


Beyond The Path

by MoJo_JoYo



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 33,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoJo_JoYo/pseuds/MoJo_JoYo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France is in turmoil and on the verge of revolution. The King and Queen continue to spend lavishly while the country folk starve. When Belle's father is unable to pay his taxes, he is sentenced to work off his debt to the crown in the labour camps. When Belle offers to take his place, she is saved from a horrible fate by Gaston, a man whose marriage proposal she had only turned down the week prior. Will she be able to find the good in a man haunted by his past, and will he bring the adventure she is looking for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story idea came after watching Disney's Beauty and the Beast and, never one to sit and just watch a movie, I thought to do a bit of research on the era and Beauty and the Beast theme. What struck me as interesting is a lot of support for Gaston. People were putting forward arguments that the only difference between Gaston and the Beast (i.e. they both locked her up, threatened her father, and had a goal of holding her prisoner) is that the Beast wanted to change. Also, what I never understood was why Gaston was so infatuated by Belle - I got the whole "ego" thing but what if there was something else drawing him in? Another thing I found interesting is the original author of Beauty and the Beast wrote this story only a generation away from the French Revolution, which I have always been fascinated with, so the author would have lived as part of the repressed French population though did not live long enough to see the rebellion. As with all cartoons, I always felt that the characters of the Disney classic would have been exaggerated versions of their real life counterparts (so to speak), so when reading this, imagine the characters are a more realistic human version to those in Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

    The air was still cool when Belle left the bookstore. Her toes squirmed in her shoes as she wandered onto the cobble stone path of the village streets. It was early, but the sun was already bright in the sky and the streets were bustling with people. She excitably ran her fingers over the gold lettering of her new book, _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_ , as she placed it into her basket and stared out at the busy crowds. It was then she saw him, weaving through the crowd, making his way to her.

She had only turned down his offer of marriage the week prior and had been the focus of the village gossip ever since. His penetrating blue eyes danced over her showing his desire while his chiselled jaw clenched tightly with wounded pride at her incessant rejection. He wore a loose shirt that provided glimpses of the dark hair on his chest to any opportunistic female that passed him sending them into fits of blushing spells and titters.

But Belle forced herself to look beyond his exterior. He was handsome alright but inside he was arrogant and obnoxious. He often loudly vented his disgust at the need to educate women and had a reputation of an unquenchable thirst at his tavern.

“Hi Gaston” winked a pretty blonde leaning provocatively against a shop wall, her skirt hiked up showing a bare leg. A similar looking blonde turned to him and waved her fingers at him, while a third girl dropped her shoulders allowing her dress to slide down her arm exposing the top of her breast. Gaston smiled knowingly as he strode passed them sending them into fits of giggles. Belle rolled her eyes at the triplet’s behaviour. Rumours had spread quickly through the village one night that he had successfully bed the three girls at the same time one drunken evening at his tavern, ruining their father’s hopes of finding wealthy suitors for marriage. The gossip had elevated his status amongst the village men, and stories spread that he had kept the stained sheets as a trophy of his conquest.

Belle saw she had gained the interest of a couple of nosey villagers, who whispered and sniggered to each other, peering in her direction. She looked back to find Gaston standing in front of her so closely that she could smell the sweat of his horse and the leather of his hunting gear. She could also sense his body tense when he peered down into her basket, catching sight of her new book.

“Hello Belle” he said flatly, not offering any emotion. Though his face was clearly pained, showing his fractured ego, causing Belle to look away in guilt.

“Gaston, I…” she started, wondering what she could say to break the uncomfortable silence between them. She looked back up at him and saw that his attention was diverted elsewhere. She followed his focused gaze to a group of men standing in front of the water fountain. She recognised the Town Mayor, but the rest seemed to be nobles from another town, dressed far too finely for such a remote village. With them was a team of soldiers, holding their muskets close and their coats proud. One of the men held a flag displaying the royal standard that flapped generously in the breeze.

“Who are they?” she asked. Gaston narrowed his eyes, and allowed his hand to drop to his waist that held his hunting knife.

“Looks like the Royal Administrator” he said as he rubbed the rough stubble on his jaw. “It seems the King’s young wife needs more money to fund her expensive taste.” A stout plump man spotted Belle and Gaston, and broke free from the group with excitement.

“Gaston! Gaston!” He ran to them. “Those men are from the capital. They are staying in the village for a while! I told them there were some rooms available at the tavern.” The man finally reached them and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Gaston simply grunted as he watched the group with caution. The village had become hostess to many members of the government lately. They would then leave with their pockets lined with gold from taxing the poor. Despite the poor harvests and droughts that devastated the countryside, the spoilt King and his flamboyant wife continued to spend extravagantly whilst the countrymen began to starve. Any government official visit to their quiet town always caused nervous unrest amongst the villagers as hardworking families had to decide about what meal they would miss in order to feed the King and Queen more cake.

“LeFou, show them to the tavern and get them settled” Gaston said, finally acknowledging the man. At least he would get some of his money back through their accommodation and meals.

“Sure,” muttered LeFou, still gasping for breath. The Mayor spotted them, pointing Belle and Gaston out to the group. Belle watched as the men approached, a group of soldiers escorting them, roughly pushing the crowds aside as they marched through. The soldiers maintained their formation as Belle lowered herself into a respectful curtsy.

“Mayor de Calliéres” Belle greeted.

A tall officer stared at her intensely, his dark eyes veering over her body with a look of satisfaction. He had a black pointed beard that exaggerated his sharp features, while his crisp white and blue officer uniform sat fitted to his slender frame. Belle looked at the red trimming of his pelt and the brass buttons on his coat, suddenly realising where their taxes went. She always thought the bicorne was an absurd piece of uniform, and the feathers that bloomed out the top made it look even more ridiculous. He reached over and brought Belle’s hand to his mouth, kissing it deeply whilst keeping his dark eyes on her.

“And what is your name, my dear” he asked, his voice oily with a thick inner-city accent.

“Belle. Belle de Villeneuve” she answered politely, taking her hand back.

The tall officer kept his wandering eyes on her, causing Belle to shift uncomfortably and feel exposed. She felt Gaston rest his hand on the small of her back, and was suddenly appreciative of his presence.

“I am Jacques Barbaroux, a Lieutenant of the King’s Army” the officer started. “Do you live in the village, or close by, Belle de Villeneuve?” Gaston was is no mood for the flirtatious behaviour that the city gentry were infamous for and interrupted him, offering out his hand.

“I trust you had a safe trip.” The lieutenant strained his eyes from Belle to look at Gaston, grasping his outstretched hand, only shaking it in obligation.

“Do I know you?” he asked tilting his head, his hand still grasped by Gaston’s firm grip.

“Not yet,” Gaston replied, narrowing his eyes at the lieutenant and tightened his grip.

Lieutenant Jacques pulled his hand from Gaston’s gripped and rested it on his pistol holster.

“The rabble were never much fun, were they?” the lieutenant jested to his comrades, who sniggered amongst themselves but kept their grips tight on their weaponry.

“This is Hector Charon, the Royal Administrator. Perhaps he has some business with you? Yes?” The Lieutenant pulled his white gloves from his fingers, holding them flopped over his arm in a regal and pompous fashion.

The group parted to allow a small, quiet man to stumble forward. He pushed his wire framed glasses back up his nose as he desperately grasped a worn leather satchel across his chest, perhaps afraid that someone would realise its value and attempt to lighten him of it.

“De Villeneuve? Do you know Maurice de Villeneuve?” The Royal Administrator asked Belle in a voice no louder than a squeak.

Belle nodded. “Yes, he’s my father.”

The man dove a sweaty hand into his satchel, still refusing to remove it from his tight grasp. He fumbled for a moment before he handed her a sealed letter.

“Give this letter to your father and tell him to join us at the Council Town Hall this evening. We have much to discuss.” Belle took the letter and offered her goodbyes as the lieutenant and his men were escorted to the tavern by LeFou.

Belle turned back to Gaston but he had already disappeared into the crowd. She was alone again in the sea of people. She sighed softly. Perhaps she deserved it. He always moved like a hunter, she thought, every part of him etched like mountain cat, prowling and stalking. Always watching, always aware.


	2. Life At The Cottage

    Her father was still in the basement where she left him that morning. The breakfast and tea she had prepared him remained untouched on the table, and gone cold.

“Papa?” she called out to him as she made her way down the stairs.

“Over here,” she heard him call out. He was leaning over a metal tub, adjusting the rotary gears within. When he stood up, his face was black with grit. His white moustache was almost unrecognisable.

“How was it in the village today?” he asked, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

“Good. I got a new book” she responded and held up the book for him to see. Her father smiled at her joy as he started to look for another tool.

“How is it going?” she asked, looking at all the pieces of machinery spread all over the basement floor. Her father sighed deeply.

“I don’t know if it will be ready in time for the Fair. Stubborn thing! Just refuses to work!” he kicked the side of the metal contraption in frustration causing a loose piece of metal to fall off the side of it.

Belle looked at her father’s latest contraption, not even sure she knew what this one did. He picked up a wrench sitting on the bench and returned to his work. Belle sighed and fell into a chair.

“Everyone’s gossiping about it” she started. Her father turned to her and smiled kindly.

“You should not worry about what everyone else thinks, Belle. You made the decision that you felt was right for you” he offered, his words providing some comfort. Belle looked at the ground thoughtfully.

“Do you think I should have said yes?” she asked. “Accepted his proposal?”

Maurice put the wrench down on the bench and went to her, embracing her in his arms.

“My dear Belle. As much as I want to know that you would be cared for when I’m gone, your happiness is more important to me than what a village full of gossips think” and he affectionately kissed the top of her head.

“So, anything else exciting happen today? Besides the new book” he asked returning to his work. Belle suddenly remembered the letter and pulled it from her basket.

“Actually, there was something. There are more government officials in town, and they asked me to give you this letter” she said handing over the sealed letter. “They said to meet them at the Council Town Hall this evening.”

Maurice took the letter into his dirty hands, broke the seal and began to read it. Belle saw the colour drained from his face as his hands began to tremble.

“Who gave you this letter, Belle?” he asked urgently.

“The Royal Administrator. What is it, Papa?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

Maurice folded the letter and held it close to him. Belle watched as his eyes darted over the floor, unable to find focus on the tools scattered across the ground.

“Don’t worry, my dear. Can you organise Phillippe and the cart? We will need to go into the village tonight.”


	3. The Third Estate

   “As a citizen in the Third Estate, you are required to pay taxes, Monsieur de Villeneuve” Hector reminded, almost hidden behind a pile of paperwork sitting on the desk in front of him. Belle watched as her father wrung his hands worryingly.

“But, I paid my taxes, to Mayor de Calliéres, at the end of the spring harvest” Maurice pleaded, holding out a parchment to verify his claims. The room certainty was not small but, it felt stuffy and overcrowded. Belle found it hard to breath, the starch from the soldiers’ uniforms and the gunpowder from their muskets dominating the air. She was curious as to why a young woman and an old man had to be escorted into the room, and the soldiers’ presence maintained. Surely, they were not a threat to anyone.

Lieutenant Jacques snatched the paperwork from Maurice’s hand and passed it over to Hector. Belle still felt uncomfortable around the lieutenant. The way her stared at her made her feel as though she was wearing nothing at all.

Hector pushed up his glasses and read over the paper.

“You only paid your duties to Mayor de Calliéres as a resident of this town. He is your landlord and can tax you accordingly” Hector replied, handing the paper outwards back towards Maurice. Belle saw the sweat on her father’s brow and took the paper in his place.

“But…” Maurice struggled. “But I don’t have any more money. The drought ruined all the crops and we had a poor harvest.” Even in the faint candlelight, Belle could see the tears well in her father’s aging eyes. He wrung his hands frantically as the lieutenant licked his lips with delight at the situation.

“If you could wait, I’m going to the Country Fair next month to sell one of my inventions. I could pay you then” Maurice pleaded. Hector tutted at him.

“I’m afraid, Monsieur, if you cannot pay your taxes now you will be sentenced to prison and will required to work off your debt to the crown in the labour camps. You are already overdue. The King is not willing to wait any longer.” Hector answered, sounding somewhat sympathetically. Belle suddenly realised why a Royal Administrator would need the company of a small army. There would be many village residents that would be unable to pay their taxes this year. The drought devastated their crops and disease wiped out their livestock. Despite the hardship, the village Mayor still taxed heavily, taking every piece of gold he could find. The village people started to become resentful, whispering that the fine coat on his back weighed more than all their starving children together.

“How long will he be gone for?” Belle asked, trying to make eye contact with Hector, though avoiding Jacques’ incessant gaze.

“I would assume twenty years in the labour camps” Hector muttered, not looking up from the paperwork on his desk. “Then he would be free to return home.”

Belle felt her stomach turn as anger overwhelmed her.

“Twenty years?” she screamed, the words not able to contain themselves against the injustice.

“He will die!” she cried. “He will die in that place!”

Belle had heard many horror stories of the prison system. The cells were overcrowded with petty and violent criminals. Raw sewage running open alongside the drinking water. The conditions were inhumane, inhabitable, and any prisoner who made it out of those cells alive were no longer the same person, and not for the better. Lieutenant Jacques snorted with amusement. He snapped his fingers and the soldiers behind him moved quickly to Maurice, brutally restraining him with authority.

“No!” Belle screamed as she watched the soldiers grapple her poor father to the ground, pulling his arms behind him. Belle saw the horror in his face as they started dragging him away. Belle screamed out as she ran to him. She was suddenly being restrained and held back. The lieutenant had grabbed her, wrapping his wandering hands around her.

“Please,” she begged Hector, still sitting at his desk hiding from the drama. Belle began to wonder how many other villagers had their loved one dragged away this night.

“There must be something I can do?” Belle felt her throat throbbing with panic, her eyes desperate for an answer.

“Shush, my dear” the lieutenant whispered in her ear as his dirty hands wandered over her dress and over her breast. He grabbed at her while she fought against him, her mind thinking fast and desperately. She could feel him run his mouth over her neck, breathing her in, his pointed beard scratching at her neckline.

“Wait!” Belle screamed, the words bursting from her mouth.

“I will take his place!”

Hector looked up from his paperwork at her, his hand frozen in motion as though the words were spoken in a foreign language.

“You do realise what this means?” he asked her quietly. Surely, she was mad.

“Yes” Belle breathed, pulling herself from Jacques dirty grip. “Yes, I do.”

“No Belle!” her father sobbed. At Jacques’ slight nod, the soldiers released their grip, causing Maurice to fall heavily onto the hard floor. Jacques could not help the toothy grin that lined his face. He chuckled at the turn of events, and lifted his hand to his soldiers, waving them back.

“Done!” Jacques agreed. “Hector, draw up the paperwork to transfer the debt to his daughter.” The soldiers returned to formation and marched over Maurice, stepping on him as though he were nothing more than a lowly insect.

Jacques grabbed Belle by the chin, squeezing her jaw tightly. She could smell his foul breath and rotting teeth in her face.

“She can entertain the men” he smiled as he looked into her frightened eyes. Belle suddenly felt hands all over her. They were coming from behind and over her, grabbing at her clothes, pulling at her hair. She screamed but the sound of the laughing soldiers drowned her out. Their faces were a blur as they took turns tearing at her skirt. Tears streamed down her face as she called for her father.

“Enough!” bellowed a deep voice.


	4. The Transfer

   The soldiers stopped their rampage and turned to see a lone man standing in the doorway. He still wore his hood up, concealing his identity from the light. Except for his lips. They were the only hint to the face underneath. But there was no denying who it was. His tall, muscular figure could never be mistaken for anyone else. As he walked towards them, Belle could hear the metal on his boots clink with each stride he took, echoing in the sudden silence of the room. He still had his hunting bow and quiver across his back and flicked his cape was he walked giving hint towards the hunting knife fastened at his belt. He was only one man, but his mere presence filled the room, sending the soldiers cowering back to their corner. The foul soldier that had grasped Belle from behind lost his nerve, and pushed her from his grip before he scurried back to the safety of his comrades. Belle stumbled forward into the man, crashing into his broad chest.

Gaston helped her up and ran his thumb along her cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, only for her to hear. He pulled her shirt strap back up her arm and onto her shoulder, and brushed the hair from her face. Belle managed a weak nod, desperately trying to steady her breath.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gaston demanded. Lieutenant Jacques stepped forward, unable to hide his disappointment that his entertainment was interrupted.

“This is a royal matter. Not of your concern. You can discuss your matters with the Administrator when we are finished here” he responded with an arrogant pompous tone, eager to continue his fun.

“Monsieur de Villeneuve has run into fault with his tax payments and is unable to pay his debts. He was sentenced to work off his debt to the country in the labour camps. His daughter here offered to take his place” came a small voice. They turned to Hector sitting at the desk, scribbling away on a parchment, recoiling from the drama unfolding around him.

“Like I said,” Jacques continued. “Not your concern.”

Gaston pulled his hood from his head and reached to his belt.

“I will pay the debt then,” he retorted. “On their behalf.”

Hector lifted his head from his work and stared disbelieving at Gaston. Was everyone in the village mad?

“The debt is quite considerable” Hector warned, peering over his glasses as they slowly slid down his nose. The lieutenant snorted amusingly, wiping the spit building in the corners of his mouth.

Gaston maintained eye contact with the lieutenant as he slowly removed his leather gloves, and pulled a bundle of paperwork from his belt.

“Would this cover it?” he asked as he threw the paper bundle onto the desk. Hector adjusted his glasses and strained his eyes as he struggled to read the faded lettering in the candle light. He looked over the paperwork and up at Gaston with a curious expression.

“Yes. Yes this will do” he said. Hector reached for his quill and moved back to his parchment, scribbling even faster than before.

“No!” shouted Jacques. “The transaction has already been agreed on. You’re too late” he stammered as his jaw clenched with anger.

“The King would prefer the gold over another one of his countrymen in prison” Hector piped up. Jacques glared at him furiously, causing Hector to shrink back into his chair. Jacques stormed over to the desk and snatched at the paperwork. He stared at the documents with interest and then looked up at Gaston.

“Why are you doing this?” Jacques whispered spitefully. “They can never repay you.”

“He can work off the debt then,” Gaston shrugged.

“Besides,” Gaston added. “It’s not your concern.”

Jacques threw the paperwork at Hector and stormed over to Gaston. His face was red with fury, his teeth so clenched tightly Belle thought they would break. His eyes were dark and wild, as he pulled his pistol from its holster, pointing it towards Gaston’s face, his thumb resting on the flint. Belle felt her heart pounding rapidly, and grasped at her chest in desperate hope of calming it. The room was deathly silent. Not even the sound of an escaping breath could be heard. Gaston looked over the pistol, his cool blue eyes staring down the mad black eyes looking back at him.

“Actually,” came a small voice, breaking through the tension of the room. “Actually, Monsieur de Villeneuve is no longer the bearer of those debts. His daughter took his place, so she will be the one to work off the debt” Hector finished, surprised by the sound of his own voice.

Jacques smirked and lowered his pistol.

“I hope you get your money’s worth out of her” he sneered, running his tongue over the corner of his lips.

“Enjoy” he added, as he dropped into a mocking bow.

Gaston turned to Belle and grabbed her by the arm. He had to get her out of there. Belle looked desperately for her father as he dragged her from the room, the sound of Jacques’ sadistic laughter following them out the door.

“No!” she screamed. “Papa! Wait!”

“Belle!” she heard her father call out to her but she could not see him. Belle fought against him but Gaston grabbed her by the waist with one arm and carried her outside the Council Town Hall. The cool evening air had begun to set in as the moon settled behind the clouds throwing darkness over the village. Belle looked around frantically for help but the streets were empty and still.

“Belle!” she heard her father call out to her again. She could see her father running out onto the streets, as fast as he could towards her, his ageing legs struggling to coordinate.

“Papa!” she screamed for him, straining her arms towards his direction. Gaston flung Belle onto his horse and mounted quickly behind her. He sunk his heels into the horse’s flanks, causing it to squeal in pain and lunge forward. Belle stretched her arm out as her father disappeared from her sight, her fingers grabbing at the empty wind, wondering if she would ever see him again.


	5. Into The Night

   The shy moon was full and lit the road with a soft glow when it could be coaxed from behind the clouds, casting shadows from the quiet buildings as they went. They rode non-stop beyond the town border, leaving the cobble stone path. The horse’s hooves padded onto softer ground and headed towards a slight hill.

Belle had not ventured this far from the village, not since her and her father arrived all those years ago. She shed a silent tear, and turned her head into the wind. She was not going to let him see her fear. _Him_. He kept his arm around her waist, and the other gripped the leather reins as tightly. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he rode and the warmth from his chest. They spoke not a word, not since they left the town hall. When they reached the top of the hill she saw the cottage. Belle tried to look back at the village but, she could not see past his wide chest, his shoulder blocking her view.

“Stop moving,” he grunted. “Or you’ll get us both thrown off.”

Belle narrowed her eyebrows and looked back ahead. He could feel the anger radiating through her body but she still refused to speak. Refused to acknowledge him. She’ll change, he told himself, she’ll realise I saved her. He turned the horse onto the cottage path and slowed to a walk. Belle saw light flickering from the cottage window and a thin whistle of smoke streaming from the chimney. As they approached, a short, round woman emerged from the front door wiping her hands on her apron.

“Monsieur Gaston?” she called, straining her ageing eyes against the fading light. “I… I was not expecting you.” Gaston reined up at the entrance. The woman straightened herself and smoothed out her apron.

“You have brought company?” She took a step towards them as Gaston flicked his feet from the stirrups and dismounted in a swoop.

“Belle is staying at the cottage for a while. Is there bread prepared?” he asked as he took off his gloves and patted his horse’s black neck.

“Yes. Yes” the woman muttered almost to herself as she tried to understand the situation. They turned as another shadow emerged from behind the cottage, hobbling and bent so far over the figure almost touched the hard ground. Belle saw it was an elderly man, dressed in peasant clothing but sufficiently warm.

“Arthur,” Gaston addressed him. “Attend to my horse. I want him boarded in the stable for the night and then turned out into the paddock. We are staying here for a while.”

The man nodded and reached for the reins. Gaston turned to take Belle from her position in the saddle but she needed no help from him. Belle released her grip of the horse’s mane and slid herself from the saddle. She landed on her feet onto the cold earth. The hard ride was beginning to work its way into her. She felt sore and shivered from both the cold and the fear that she fought against. As the man led the horse away Gaston grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the cottage steps. Her feet knew better and planted themselves firmly on the ground.

“Stop being stubborn!” he growled at her. Panic suddenly spread through her like an overflowing current, bursting at the river’s edges. She looked at the cottage door, still open from when the woman came out. She did not want to go in through those doors, there was no knowing what was on the other side.

“No!” Belle pulled back, her eyes wide open. She thrashed back but his grip was strong and her efforts were ignored.

“Gaston? I… What is going on?” The older woman stammered. She looked from Gaston to Belle and back to Gaston.

Gaston turned from Belle to address the woman. “You are dismissed for the night Madge. You can come back at sunrise to prepare for the morning.” The woman nodded still not moving. She quickly realised herself, curtsied and turned towards the back of the cottage, following the same path as Arthur and the horse. Belle wanted to call out to her but she had moved quick and disappeared into the darkness.

“You will serve out your time here. I think you will find it comfortable.” Gaston gestured towards the cottage, ushering Belle towards the door. His hand relaxed and she pulled herself from her grip. Belle recoiled back, grasping her arm where he had held her.

“I will never enjoy a moment with you” she spat back at him, her words as venomously as she dared.

He felt his anger rise up in him and stormed towards her. How dare she? He thought, after all he had just done. She cowered back and he grabbed her with one arm, throwing her over him. She called out but no one would hear her, they were too far from the village. He carrying her up the steps and through the front door.

He put her down more gently than he scooped her up and slammed the door behind him, throwing down the heavy balustrade across the entrance. He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen, running his fingers along the wooden table as he went. Belle took this moment to let her eyes adjust to the cottage light. A fireplace was lit in the adjacent room, providing warmth and enough light to allow her to take in her surroundings. The large wooden table stood between her and the kitchen area, and she could see a small seating area to her side and a hallway leading off to a corridor of doors. Gaston stood in the kitchen, drinking her in.

He leaned against the counter top and breathed deeply.

“Do you like it?” he asked, almost genuinely, not taking his piercing blue eyes off her. Belle shivered despite herself and pulled her cloak tighter.

“I didn’t know this place was here” she answered. She began to wonder how such an arrogant man acquired a place as this. There was nothing that reminded her of him here. The tavern, well that was Gaston through and through – the antler and animal trophies that decorated the walls, and the smell of beer and haze of smoke that choked the room. This place, though, was far subtler, if not almost sweet. The furniture was a combination of delicate fabric and solid wood, complementing the cottage features.

“No one knows about this place,” smirked Gaston. “It was my mother’s.”

He turned from Belle and searched the kitchen for a meal and gave a grin of satisfaction when he noticed the bread and cheese sitting close by. He shoved the food into his mouth and turning, offered a chuck to Belle. Belle shook her head, she was still too shaken to stomach anything, and was certainly in no mood to dine with this man. A grin crept up his face as he sucked the crumbs from his fingers. He put the bread down and walked to her, his eyes fixed on her face. Belle saw the hunter focus in his eyes as he moved towards her silently and determined. Belle took a step back but she felt the door behind her.

Gaston towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the fireplace.

“You’re so beautiful tonight, Belle” he said, running his hand through her hair. She turned away from him.

“It was a brave thing you did.” He trailed his hand down her face and traced her lips with his thumb.

“I did it to save my father.” Her heart was pounding against her chest, screaming inside of her. Gaston leant into her and softly kissed her lips. He moaned with delight as he pulled her into him.

“Stop it, Gaston!” Belle pleaded, gasping for air. He smirked and leaned in again, kissing her more persuasively, running his tongue over hers. He reached up and unclipped her cape and let it drop to the ground. Belle put her hands against his chest and pushed against him.

“No! Stop it!” she demanded. She swung at him with an open hand and slapped him clean across the face. The slap left no mark on his strong face, and he lifted her up as though she weighed nothing, folding her legs around his waist. He turned and laid her on the large wooden table. Leaning onto her, he ran his hand up her leg lifting her skirt as he went, and made his grip on her thigh. He bore down his weight and moaned her name while she pleaded with him to stop. His lips were on hers again as he reached down to his belt. Terror had overcome Belle as she laid beneath him unable to move. The tears streamed from her eyes and her mouth silently mouthed for mercy. Gaston momentarily lifted himself from her to fumble with his belt, when he looked at her face.

_RUN_

Gaston saw the fear in her eyes. The tears that streaked her beautiful face. He froze. He had seen those eyes before.

_RUN, screamed the eyes._

Gaston jolted upright and inhaled quickly. She did not want him. Not like this. He could not force his love on her. If he did, he would be no better than those filthy soldiers. She would never love him, regardless of what he had just done for her. He felt overwhelming shame, and stared with shock at Belle laying on the table, her skirt lifted and her chest rising rapidly with panicked breath.

He shook his head. “No. Not like this” he muttered to himself. He carefully pulled her skirt back over her.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He offered a hand out to her and pulled her upright, unable to look at the hurt in her eyes. He took a step back, running his hands through his black hair and turned away. Belle steadied herself onto her legs which seemed to find little strength to hold her. She held herself and moved away from him as quickly as she could.

“You will take the bedroom and I will organise for your things to be brought over tomorrow” Gaston said, still with his back to her, unable to face her.

Shaking, Belle mustered a small voice to respond. “Where will you be staying?” she asked.

“I will take the lounge.” Belle turned to see the lounge and seating chairs near the fireplace.

“The bedroom is the first door on the left down the hallway” he finished. Belle turned and fled for the hallway before he changed his mind. She flung herself into the room and latched the door behind her. She then let the fear consume her. Her legs lost their strength causing her to fall to the ground, her back sliding down the door. She sobbed uncontrollably on the floor, terrified of what her life would be, and when he would feel lustful again. She waited and waited for him to come after her, but he didn’t.

Gaston remained at the table, his hands stretched out in front of him. He could hear the sobbing from down the hall and tried to block the sound from penetrating his thoughts.

_RUN!_

He moved quietly to the seating room and felling into the chair in front of the fireplace. He stared into the fire, and watched the flames dance. Gaston could see the eyes again, burning in his mind. Those beautiful eyes, those desperate eyes. They screamed at him. RUN! They said.

He should have never come back here. He sat motionless and listened to the distant sobbing that he caused. How could Belle ever come to love such a beast?


	6. Morning Tea

   The sunlight crept onto her face as she stirred from her sleep. Her tears and fear had exhausted her and she had fell into a deep sleep despite her best efforts. Belle sat up in the bed at looked at the door. It was still closed and locked. She turned to the sunlight gleaming through the window and rubbed her eyes. There was a soft tap at the door.

“Who is it?” Belle jolted upright, pulling the sheets close to her.

“It’s Madge, dear” the voice replied. “I have brought you some tea.”

Belle swung herself out of the bed and unlocked the door. She opened the door slightly and peered at the woman. It was the same woman from last night, holding a tray of tea and toasted bread.

“You are going to have to open the door more than that, dear. The tray is quiet large I don’t think it would fit through such a small gap!” The woman smiled pleasantly, tilting her head patiently.

“Oh, sorry” Belle responded, and she allowed herself to open the door fully, gesturing the woman in. The woman remained standing in the doorway holding the tray.

“No one should eat in bed unless they are ill. How about you come out to the sitting room? The view is lovely from there.” Madge waited for Belle to follow her out but, Belle stayed steadfast.

“Is… Is anyone else here?” she stammered, not even willing to say his name.

“No, just us, dear” Madge responded and started to walk back down the hall carrying the tray of tea and bread. “Gaston was always an early riser. Up before the sun and into the woods.”

Belle felt relief and followed Madge out into the sitting area. She did not realise how hungry she was until she smelt the hot bread and sticky jam. Madge set the tray down in front of Belle and returned to the kitchen.

“The whole village is talking about it!” blurted Madge, no longer able to control herself. “How you took your father’s place to save him, and then how Gaston paid the debt to save you. Everyone thinks it’s a wedding dowry and that you and Gaston will be married by spring. The triplets are begging their father to not pay his taxes in the hope that Gaston will rescue them next!”

Madge lit the oven and turned a bowl of dough onto the bench, kneading and folding it with her hands. Belle could see the woman’s greying hair sticking out from under her bonnet. Madge seemed harmless, though quite the gossip.

“I’m making a real feast for dinner,” Madge started again. “Gaston brought down a huge buck the other day. It will feed everyone for days! Hmm, I need to make sure I have enough eggs. He enjoys his eggs, you know.” Madge placed the dough onto a dusted tray and slid it into the oven. She seemed excited to have someone to talk to while she toiled.

Madge wiped her hands on her apron and approached Belle.

“As I said, I’m Madge, the housekeeper and the man you saw last night, he is Arthur. Arthur tends to the gardens and the stables. You won’t get much of a conversation out of him.” Belle sipped her tea and soaked in her surroundings. Not getting a response, Madge started up again.

“Both Arthur and I have been here for a while, we served Gaston’s parents, you know? When his father passed, Gaston stationed us here to maintain the cottage whilst he lived in town. Never came here unless he was needed, which was why it was such a surprise to see him last night.” Madge cleaned the kitchen and prepared for the day.

“Why would he have you clean and cook in a place he never stays at?” Belle asked, surprised at her own curiosity.

Madge looked away, and fumbled with her apron. “I’m going to pull up some potatoes to go with the venison, might see if the carrots are ready too,” she said, shifting the topic.

“Is there anything that you would like served with dinner, dear?”

“I’m not joining him for dinner” Belle replied flatly. Madge looked at her with shock.

“But… but…” she stammered.

“I refuse to dine with that man! I will never dine with him!” screamed Belle, slamming her cup on the table causing the tableware to rattle.

“Give him a chance, dear. I know he’s a bit much at first but, once you get to know him…” Madge began.

“I never want to get to know him!” Belle screamed back. “I never want to know that monster!”

Belle and Madge turned to the direction of the sudden cool breeze and saw him standing at the door. He cast a long, silent shadow across the floor, his face covered by the darkness. Madge turned back to the kitchen and continued on her chores trying to blend in with the surrounding furnishings. Belle stared back at him, refusing to show any fear.

“Your things are here” Gaston said, breaking the icy silence. Belle turned in her seat and looked out the front cottage window. There was a cart full of packing trunks and baskets.

Gaston continued, “Your father insisted I bring this.” He tossed the object to the ground in front of Belle’s feet. Belle reached down and picked up the book, and ran her fingers along the gold title lettering on the cover. She would be glad to be able to disappear into her book and shut everyone out. Belle looked at the cart again and saw it was Phillippe, her father’s draught horse, pulling the cart.

“You took Phillippe?” Belle questioned.

“Yep. Your father won’t be needing a plough horse any more Belle, now that he has been kicked off that land.” Gaston turned outside and grabbed a trunk off the cart. He passed it to LeFou who appeared from behind the cart. LeFou struggled under the weight of the baggage and stumbled inside the cottage.

“Mayor de Calliéres realised it was in his best interest to lease that land to someone who actually knows what they are doing” Gaston added as he carried in a basket inside.

“The bedroom will be yours,” Gaston said, gesturing towards the hallway.

“You can go anywhere around the cottage and the surrounding gardens, except,” Gaston paused for a breath. “Except for the room down the end of the hallway.”

Belle turned her head towards the hallway and felt a twitch of curiosity rise up in her. “Why not the back room?” she asked.

“Because I said so!” Gaston barked loudly, throwing up his arms in anger causing Belle to jump back in fright.

They were interrupted by Madge’s small nervously voice in the kitchen.

“I have bread in the oven and will get started on the meat soon.”

Gaston lowered his hands. “I won’t be having dinner here tonight, Madge. We are going to track another stag in the woods, and then the men want to have drinks at the tavern” Gaston interrupted. “I won’t be back until the morning.”

Madge‘s shoulders slumped and she looked at the floor disappointed. Gaston went to her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

“I will stay for dinner tomorrow” he said reassuringly. He turned and tramped his muddy boots out the cottage. Belle saw him mount his horse through the front window, and ride off towards the village. LeFou ran behind him on foot, desperately trying to keep up. Madge may have been disappointed to see Gaston leave but, Belle was not. She looked at the book still in her hands and smiled. At least she would able to escape into her book and disappear, if only briefly.


	7. Cottage Life

   He did not return the next morning as promised. Or any morning that followed that week. Belle suspected that he would be sulking in his tavern, satisfying his needs with cheap liquor and easy women. Madge still prepared dinner each night in anticipation of his return, only for the food to go cold and untouched. Belle could see the disappointment in Madge’s face as the days ended and there were no sign of Gaston’s black horse riding up the hill and through the cottage gates.

Belle, on the other hand, enjoyed the solitude. The isolation of the cottage created the perfect environment for her to finally opened her book and engross herself in the pages. When her eyes became tired from reading, she took to exploring the cottage grounds, picking late season roses from the garden and placing them around the cottage. She watched the bright yellow serin birds jumping tree to tree, and delighted in spotting a rabbit in the gardens frantically collecting a last meal before winter. The cottage grounds backed onto the woods, and Belle often stared deep within them with the hope of seeing a red deer stray beyond the protection of the trees. In the evenings, she groomed her father’s horse, Phillippe, and talked to him as if it were her father himself. She missed her father, and came teary when she wondered how he going and whether he was managing without her.

She was surprised in herself at how easily she felt at home in the cottage. Although it was small, there was also much to discover within it. From embroidered window furnishings that filtered the sunlight, to the tiny animal figurines that were placed throughout every room. She occupied her time by testing every cupboard door and opening every drawer, wondering what she would discover.

But no matter how much she tried to distract herself, curiosity always led her back to the locked door of back room. She tested the door every day, just in case it spontaneously opened, revealing the secrets that were on the other side. The windows were covered by heavy drapes, blocking the view from the outside garden, much to Belle’s frustration. Madge simply pretended that the room did not exist and ignored all of Belle’s questions about it. For a woman that enjoyed her gossip, Madge could suddenly stop talking which provoked Belle’s curiosity even further.

After another day enjoying the cool autumn weather, Belle went to her favourite spot in front of the fireplace with her book in hand. As the night grew dark and Madge retired for the evening, Belle stared blankly at the words on the page, her mind wandering to the locked room at the end of the hall. She strained to keep her attention on her book but found she was staring mindlessly at the pages, reading the same line over and over again. Her father always said a curious mind was an inventive mind, though she was sure he did not have the same intentions as what she did. Belle tried the door again. Still locked. It was always locked. Belle ran her fingers over the keyhole wondering what direction she should take. To walk away and never know, or to proceed further and discover adventure.

“Well, lock-picking is sort of inventive” she told herself when she found a suitable metal wire. The lock itself was easy to open. The door, on the other hand, seemed unusually heavy. Perhaps the hinges were worn or rusted from lack of use. Belle took a deep breath and pushed against the door.

The hinges gave way and let out a loud screech that echoed in the room. The room was complete darkness, making Belle wish she had lit a lamp. But she was drawn into the blackness, taking quiet faint steps as she went. She held her arms out in front of her as she tried to find her way around. The darkness swallowed her as she made her way in deeper. She stretched her fingers out, searching for answers.

The room was cold and stuffy, and she could feel her arms prickle in response. The sound of the autumn wind pounded against the cottage, creating howling noises that sounded like ghosts still suffering the pain of their deaths. Belle could no longer see her hand in front of her as she made her way deeper into the room. The room had not appeared to be big from the outside but the darkness exaggerated the space, providing no walls or ceiling.

Belle saw a thin lisp of blue light streaming through, almost swallowed by the darkness. Belle made her way to it, realising it was the moonlight, almost hesitant in itself to enter the room. Belle found the window and pulled back the drapes. The moonlight burst into the room, and the room lit up as though it were hungry for light, no longer willing to live in darkness.

Belle turned slowly, afraid of what she would now see in the room. The secrets of the room would now be revealed to her. Was she ready for them? Belle turned around and held her breath, her heart pounding rapidly against her chest. She felt herself shiver as she desperately waited for her eyes to adjust to the newly found light. Belle gasped in disbelief when she saw it.

Rows and rows of books. Bookcases from the floor to the ceiling, filled with books.

“It’s a library” she muttered to herself in amazement. Belle felt herself drawn to the books, running her fingers along the spines of them. They were covered in dust and spider-webs, clearly not used or even touched in a very long time. If Gaston owing this cottage surprised her that it had a well-stocked library surely raised more questions than it did answers for Belle. She could smell the fragrant aged scent of the books as she walked along trying to make out the book titles in the dark. Belle felt a sense of satisfaction at finally discovering what was behind the door, but there was a question that had not been answered.

Why was this room a secret?

Other than Gaston’s well known hatred of books and reading, there seemed no other reason as to why no one had entered the room in what seemed to be such a long period of time. Belle wandered back over to the window to adjust the drapes back when she tripped on a stray piece of furniture still hidden by the darkness. She fell the ground, embarrassed by her own clumsiness. She looked over to the assaulting piece of furniture and saw that it was a small table laying on its side. A book lay next to it on the floor. Belle reached for the book wondering why this one was not with the others on the shelves. Belle turned the book in the moonlight to make out the faded title across the cover.

_Jack and the beanstalk._

As she sat up, she saw she had landed on something. A dark shape stained the floor under her dress. She skimmed her eyes over it trying to make out its shape. The moonlight provided little help. Belle ran her fingers over it and could feel it had been there for some time, the shape had gone hard over time. It smelt sour and metallic, suddenly overwhelming the scent of the books. Belle could feel her heart pounding against her chest and she recoiled her hand back with fright. She knew what it was.

Blood.

Belle gasped and put her hand over her mouth in fright. That was when she heard him.

“What are you doing in here?” Gaston demanded from the doorway.


	8. Yellow Eyes

   Belle jumped at the sudden sound of his booming voice. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at the dark imposing figure in the doorway.

“Get out!” he screamed at her. Belle’s legs struggled to find their balance as she desperately tried to stand.

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded as she headed towards the door, crashing into the hidden table again. She could not make out his face, but he held his hands over his ears, blocking out a sound only he could hear.

“I told you not to come in here!” he yelled, still standing in the doorway. Belle ran in terror, pushing passed him as she fled from the room. She didn’t look back. The front door of the cottage was wide open and she ran out it. Her legs moved as fast, the sound of her dress flapping furiously with each stride.

The night air was cold, making it hard to breath, but she was not going back to grab her cape. She had to run. The forest. If she made it into the forest, she would be safe, she thought. Belle lifted her dress and headed towards the tall trees, her feet slipping on the damp ground. As she ran desperately, she saw Phillippe lift his head from the grass, calling out to her as she neared the paddock. Belle turned back to the cottage and saw his dark figure standing at the front door. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she threw herself up onto the horse’s back.

“Go!” she yelled, flicking him with her heels. Phillippe snorted and lunged forward slowly, never keen to go anywhere in a hurry. Belle kicked him again as she grabbed his mane, encouraging him into a sudden gallop. Phillippe stormed across the paddock, his large stubborn hooves thundering the ground as he sped up with each stride. Belle saw the fence in front of them. She gripped the horse tightly as he charged through the wooden barrier, not even attempting to leap over it. Shards of broken wood flew up at her, scratching her face and sticking to her hair. Phillippe charged forward as Belle grabbed tightly to his mane and gripped with her thighs.

They burst through the trees like a thunder clap, the darkness consuming them. Belle tried to see where they were going as Phillippe galloped forward but, the cold wind burnt her eyes and the trees grabbed at her face. She desperately urged Phillippe on as he stumbled on hidden tree roots and dense undergrowth. The moon hid behind the thick canopy making it impossibly dark but, Belle had to keep going.

Phillippe eventually slowed to a trot as Belle tried to find her bearings. She looked around. Each tree looked the same. Each direction looked the same. It was then she realised that she did not even know which direction she came from. Belle rubbed Phillippe’s thick neck as she tried to calm herself. She felt her skin prickle as her horse snorted deeply in the cold air.

Then she heard it. A distance sound that echoed through the forest. The howling. Phillippe threw his head up, hearing the sound as well. Belle desperately tried to calm him, hushing and reassuring him but, he started to pace, his nostrils wide with fear. She could not see them but she could hear them. Belle looked through the trees trying to determine where the pack were hiding.

Then their yellow eyes came into view. They slowly emerged from the trees, their heads down and teeth bared. There were too many of them. They were everywhere. Phillippe screeched with terror, rearing up onto his haunches as Belle desperately tried to hang on. He stamped his feet and jumped backwards, turning in each direction finding everywhere was blocked.

They were surrounded. Belle could not control her shaking, her whole body tremored with fear.

The pack attacked at once. From all sides. Belle screamed as the sharp teeth launched at Phillippe and closed in around his throat. Phillippe reared, desperate to shake the wolf’s grip causing Belle to fall from him and onto the hard ground. Belle watched as more wolves leaped at Phillippe, snapping at his terrified face and grabbing at his legs. Belle cried with horror at the sight of the blood that trickled down his hindquarters and stained the forest floor. Phillippe kicked furiously at the wolves, determined to put up a fight. Belle grabbed a stick and swung at the wolves, trying to give Phillippe a chance from the pack.

But there were too many of them. The pack bared their teeth and leapt at her, knocking her to the ground. She screamed out as she felt one latch onto her leg and she kicked frantically at its grip. The yellow eyes looked up at her panicked face, keen for an easy kill. She held her breath as she watched her attacker turn upwards towards her, snarling as he went. With rapid speed, the wolf was on her, snapping at her throat. She pushed at its chest, feeling the saliva drip from its jaws. She was losing her strength as the wolf furiously snapped at her face.

Suddenly, there was a yelp and the wolf dropped to the ground unmoving. Belle looked to her side to see the wolf laying still with an arrow sticking out from its chest. She looked around desperately trying understand what was happening. Phillippe was overwhelmed, the pack almost bringing him down to the ground. Belle heard a faint whistling through in the air, then a yelp, and another wolf dropping to the ground.

The pack turned in the direction of the archer, now more interested in the fight for hunting grounds. The hooded man already had his next shot lined up and released a lethal arrow before the pack could coordinate an attack, causing them to scatter in confusion. As the archer loaded another arrow, the pack saw their chance and regrouped, launching themselves towards him. The man quickly released the arrow as they descended on him, knocking him to the ground.

He grabbed the hunting knife from his belt and launched back into them, sending blood and fur flying into the air. Belle screamed at the sight of the wolves tearing at him, and the moon’s reflection in the knife as it plunged into the grey fur. The wolves bit at his hand, ripping the sleeve from his arm, tearing open his skin. The deep red blood added to the fury of the fight. 

Belle’s panic overwhelmed her. Her legs were moving before she realised. Her hands out in front of her in the darkness, trying to find direction. She fell onto a tree, and shifted herself behind it, desperately sucking in air.

It was deathly quiet. Belle listened for the sounds of the forest, her eyes wide with fright. But all she could hear was the sound of her breath as she rapidly panted. The cold set in, causing her to shiver. She grabbed the trunk of the tree to steady herself when she hear a twig snap.

They found me, she thought. Belle stood frozen against the tree trunk, unable to move. She saw the exhaling breath mist in the cold forest air as the shadow of the hunter moving around her scent. Belle turned to run, hitting a hard barrier. She screamed, and fought against it in panic. Belle felt the large arms wrap around her in comfort and buried her face into his chest.

“It’s okay” he whispered softly to her. Gaston held her close as she cried with relief. Belle grabbed tightly at his shirt, smelling the sweat from his fight.  He scooped her up gently and carried her through the dark trees and back to their horses. He lifted her onto his black stead and secured Phillippe to the front of his saddle with a spare rope. Belle felt the saddle sway as he mounted up behind her, clicking his tongue at his horse. They rode quietly and slowly back through the trees, Phillippe limping painfully behind them.

Belle leaned against his chest, feeling warm and safe in his embrace. His injured hand hung at his side, his red blood dripping slowly from him. But he said nothing. Belle closed her eyes from the cold and let him take her back to the cottage. She was out of fight this night.


	9. The Cold Night

   Madge and Arthur were waiting for them at the front of the cottage when they finally returned. Belle opened her eyes enough to see Madge hold a worried hand to her mouth. Gaston dismounted, giving instructions to Arthur as he helped Belle from her seat. He went to follow them into the cottage when Phillippe reared up on his haunches, causing Arthur to struggle with his grip. Gaston looked desperately from the horses to Belle.

“I will take care of her,” Madge reassured. “You look after the horses.”

Gaston nodded unwillingly, and took the rope from Arthur leading an agitated Phillippe behind the cottage and to the stables. Madge put a supportive arm around Belle and helped her up the porch stairs and towards the cottage light

“His hand! His hand!” Belle pleaded as Madge led her into the cottage. Belle began to tremble and lose her footing.

“He’s bleeding! Madge, you have to help him!” she begged as the floor felt as though it moved under her feet.

Madge seated her at the table and rushed to the kitchen, filling a pan with hot water from the stove. She found some clean cloths and returned to Belle who was clutching her dress in fright. Madge reached up and stroked Belle’s loose hair.

“Don’t worry about him, dear. I assure you, he’s done worse” Madge said comforting. Belle’s hands trembled violently as she struggled to compose herself.

They heard Gaston’s heavy footsteps come up the front steps, and looked up as he entered through the front door. His shirt was torn and his right arm was stained with blood from his wound. Belle moved to her feet as he went to her, grasping the sides of her face with his hands.

“Don’t you ever go off like that!” he screamed as tears burned in his eyes. Belle’s eyes stang and they were no longer able to hold back the tears. Her strength broke and she sobbed uncontrollably, her mouth desperate to find the right words.

“I’m so sorry” she wept. Gaston pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her embracing her tightly. Belle sobbed into his chest begging for forgiveness as he protectively rested his chin on her head. Belle allowed herself to accept his grasp, feeling safe in his strong arms. She could hear his heart thumping against his chest as she pressed herself against him. He held her out in front him and looked deep into her eyes.

“Promise me you won’t do that again” he pleaded, running his wounded fingers over her cheek and along her chin.

Belle nodded and began to feel dizzy. The room started to spin and her legs lost their sturdiness. She felt herself fall as the room went dark. Gaston caught her before she hit the ground and carried her to the bedroom, placing her quietly on the bed. He looked down at her laying still, her dress torn from the attack. Her beautiful face was scratched and stained with his blood. He lift his hand to her face and pushed a stray lock of hair out of her closed eyes. Gaston exhaled deeply and left the room, closing the door behind him. He looked down at his injured hand wondering whether she was worth it all.

 


	10. The Chestnut Mare

   The sun had been up long enough to warm up the autumn air, and was streaming through the cottage windows throwing speckled dust particles across the sitting room. Belle was sipping her tea and quietly reading her book on the lounge when Madge called out from the kitchen.

“He’s back!”

Madge scurried to the front door, wiping her hands on her apron as she went. Belle set aside her book and followed Madge to the front porch. Gaston pulled up his horse and stepped out the saddle. As he pulled his leather gloves off and flexed his hands, Belle could see his hand bandaged tightly in a clean white cloth.

“You left so early” Belle started, not sure what she asking. Gaston smiled broadly while he untied the lead rope from the front of his saddle. That is when Belle saw her. A horse, only slightly smaller than his own, was pawing at the ground impatiently. The horse’s red coat gleamed in the sunlight, showing off her sleek frame. Belle walked over and ran her hand over the horse’s muzzle and up her face, tracing the soft white stripe that stretched up.

“She’s beautiful” Belle admired aloud.

Gaston puffed his chest out with pride, “She’s a beauty alright. Needs a soft hand though. Her last owners kept a tight rein and a sharp whip. More of a ladies horse, I think.” Gaston ran his hand down the horse’s long, handsome neck.

“And, besides,” he continued with a smirk, “I thought a chestnut mare was more you.”

Belle stopped patting the horse and turned to Gaston. “You mean, she’s for me?” she gasped.

“I figured if you are going to be here for a while you need to know your way through the woods and how to ride properly, especially if you intend to keep running off all the time” Gaston said as he headed towards the cottage.

“Your plough horse will be turned out in the back paddock while he recovers from his injuries. Hopefully, he can be put back into work by the spring harvest.”

Gaston muttered a request to Madge as he walked past her. Madge nodded, scooped up her dress and darted back inside. Arthur silently appeared, hobbling as fast as his legs would allow. He took the lead rope from Belle and led the horse to the stables. The horse squealed as she was led away, her freshly shod hooves prancing lightly as she went. Belle allowed her hand to drop to her side and watched as the horse disappeared from her sight.

“What’s her name?” Belle asked as Gaston entered the cottage.

“Ginger” he called out. “Get yourself sorted, we will head off once the horse is saddled.”


	11. The Path

   They rode beyond the tapered countryside and into the dense, untouched woods. The sun disappeared behind the tall fir trees, peering only through small openings in the canopy providing golden streams of light. Belle’s horse fell in behind Gaston’s black mount as he led the way further into the woods and onto a worn path. Their horses snorted their approval at the soft, mossy ground and the gentle, sweet air. The trees threw dark shadows across the woodland floor, and swayed wispily in the breeze. Belle gripped her reins tightly as her mare became restless, shying at sudden shadows and exaggerated movement.

Gaston rode silently, one hand on the reins and the other firmly on his hip that held his hunting knife. He wore his hunting bow and quiver across his back, and secured it to his belt. Belle could see the path was leading them out to the edge of the woods and onto a grass clearing.

“Give her some more rein. Hold firm not tight” he instructed as they left the path and entered the clearing.

“Tap her slightly with your inside leg to bring her straight. Keep your heels down.”

Belle pulled up her horse.

“I know how to ride!” she shouted at him. Gaston halted his horse, who began pawing at the ground with frustration. He threw back his head and laughed.

“If you knew how to ride, that horse wouldn’t be injured in my back paddock right now!” he yelled back, pointing in the direction of the cottage. Belle felt her pride itch and her temper rise.

“He wasn’t even saddled and I was riding in the dark!” she countered.

“Ha! You think you need a saddle to ride a horse?” Gaston dissed her.

“I had enough time to put my boots back on before I came after you. You know, you go faster if you go in a straight line” Gaston said laughing at his own jest.

“Why do you have to be such a jackass all the time?” she swore at him. Gaston sat shocked in his saddle. He could not believe what he was hearing and struggled to find his voice. He had heard such language from men in his tavern, often after a few too many drinks and just before he punched them. But, never from a young maiden with a face as angelic as hers.

“You’re right” he laughed. “I am a jackass. The best jackass in the entire village” and he bowed mockingly in his saddle, laughing loudly as he went. Only Gaston could turn an insult into a compliment, Belle thought angrily. He leaned towards her, thoroughly enjoying the exchange.

“But at least this jackass knows how to ride a horse” he added, never willing to let her have the last say.

Belle’s mouth was wide at the insult. Her face burned with fury as her eyes narrowed at him.

“I can ride as good as you!” she yelled back, her face flushed red with wounded pride. Gaston scoffed with amusement, his face showing an egotistical grin. He urged his horse on and began circling Belle slowly.

“As _me_? You think you can ride as good as me?” he sneered and pulled up alongside her, facing her straight on.

“Let’s see how good you think you are.”

Belle looked at him confused. “What do you mean?” she asked nervously.

“Beyond this clearing is the edge of the forest. If you head for those trees, you will come to an opening near an old stump. Follow that path till you get to a stream. If you can beat me to that stream, I will give you your freedom.” Gaston leaned forward in his saddle, and exhaled in Belle’s face.

“It will give your mare a chance to stretch her legs.”

Belle’s eyes flicked quickly as she tried to understand what he was offering. She look beyond the clearing and could see the opening and the old stump he had described. She looked back at Gaston’s amused face wondering where the trick lay.

“Your horse is faster than mine” she responded, convinced he meant it as a cruel joke.

“I will give you a head start then,” Gaston shrugged, sitting upright in his saddle. “Ten seconds, then I’m coming.”

Belle looked up at the clearing again. The opening did not seem so far away and the flat grass would allow Ginger to build up speed. Perhaps she could make it to the forest and, even if she was not quick enough to the stream, she may be able to lose him in the dense trees. Belle sucked in a quick breath, and kicked her heels into her horse. Ginger squealed with excitement and charged forward, glad to open her legs and unleash her energy.

Gaston smiled to himself, “One.”

Belle gripped the reins tight and urged Ginger on, moving her arms with the motion of the horse.

“Two.”

Ginger moved swiftly across the grass, gaining speed with each stride. Her movement light and fluid as her hooves flew over the ground.

“Three.”

Belle flicked Ginger with her heels again and guided her towards the forest opening ahead.

“Four.”

Belle was gaining distance but still urged Ginger on faster as the path came into sight. She could hear Ginger snort at the air, her lungs filling and emptying with rapid breath.

“Five”

Belle looked back as Ginger charged forward. Gaston was facing the forest seated on his black mount, not moving but watching with a hunter’s glare.

“Six.”

Belle could see she had passed over half the clearing and was nearing on the old stump. Ginger galloped with determination, her red mane streaming in the wind.

“Seven.”

Belle’s cape blew off her head and her hair came loose from its ribbon. The wind lifted her cape up behind her as Ginger bolted forward.

“Eight.”

The path was visible and she was almost upon it. Belle could see the path leading into darkness, a tunnel of trees that towered over the ground below.

“Nine.”

Belle made it through the opening and turned Ginger onto the path. The way lay in front her. All she had to do was follow it.

“Ten.”

She looked back upon the clearing and saw Gaston’s horse rear furiously as he sunk his heels into its side. The black horse lunged into a thunderous gallop over the long grass towards them. She heard his horse scream as she disappeared into the forest.

He was coming.


	12. The Stream

   Ginger let out a high-pitched squeal as they turned through the darkness. The path twisted and moved between trees that seemed to grab at them as they passed. Belle pushed Ginger on. She did not know how far away the stream was but, she knew he was coming.

A flock of birds erupted from the forest floor causing Ginger to drop her haunches in fright. Belle went to urge her on when she heard it. The distant sound of water bubbling over rocks. The stream! And she was close. Belle felt her heart race. Her eyes were wide as she looked desperately through the trees, trying to find where the sound was coming from.

“Follow the path” she reminded herself. Belle looked over her shoulder and saw Gaston descend onto the path, his horse’s nostrils wide, snorting at the cool air. Gaston smiled at Belle, and turned his horse towards them in hot pursuit. Belle flicked her heels and urged Ginger on, grabbing a handful of her red mane as she did.

“Go!” Belle pressed as Ginger pushed off her haunches, her hooves moving quickly across the ground. Her horse was a flash of red as they dashed through the trees. Ginger’s hooves turned up the earth with speed, sending dirt flying up at Belle. She could hear heavy hooves gaining on her, but she refused to give up.

Sweat dripped from Ginger’s neck as her mouth foamed with exhaustion. The sound of the racing horses’ vibrated through the forest, echoing through the isolation. She could see it, the stream, just below the trees ahead.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a black haze side up to her. She dared not look, not with the stream so close. Gaston pushed his horse on who intensified with every step. The black horse grunted, as ruthless as its rider, and was neck and neck with Ginger. They descended down the embankment and as the dark horse stretched his nose ahead, they stormed into the water, splashing water onto their rider’s faces.

The noise of the water crashing down the stream was almost deafening and drowned out the sound of the pounding hooves. Water washed over the horses’ hot legs and sprayed mist at their faces. Belle threw out her arms, and embraced the splashing water.

“That was incredible!” she gasped, tilting her head back towards the high sun. She ran her hands along her hair, now wet from the jumping water. Gaston eased his horse, and turned back to her. His eyes were wide with excitement, laughing with delight.

“You almost had me!” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“I can’t believe it. You cleared that grass so quickly” he panted, desperately trying to catch his breath. He leaned onto his horse’s neck and gave him a pat of satisfaction.

“Almost” he finished.

Belle loosened her rein and allowed Ginger to drop her head into the cool running water. She ran her hand along the wild red mane, threw her head back and laughed freely at the sky.

“I have never done anything that exciting in my life!” Belle exclaimed, amazed at her own honesty. Gaston turned his horse to the stream’s edge, allowing the horse to plod slowly through the flowing water.

“We’ll dismount here and let the horses have a drink. Madge packed food and drink for us, so it will give us a chance to catch our breath.”

Belle gently lifted the reins and clicked her tongue, guiding Ginger onto the rocky bank. Gaston dismounted on the embankment and splashed the cool water onto his face and over his hair. He loosened the leather girths, and tied the horses to a nearby stump where they could enjoy the fresh season growth. As he removed his riding gloves and stretched his fingers, Belle saw the bandage on his hand.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse” he dismissed, as he passed Belle the food and drink from his saddle bag.

They fell onto the soft, leaf littered ground, and ate and drank until they were satisfied. Gaston leaned back onto the grass with his hands behind his head. Belle watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath. His hair was still wet from the water and his icy blue eyes stared absently at the sky. Belle looked down and saw his hunting bow laying between them. She mindlessly ran her fingers along the bowstring.

“Have you ever shot one before?” Gaston asked noticing her interest. Belle shook her head. Gaston pulled himself up and rested his arm on his knee. He leaned into her, his face close to hers. Belle flushed at the sensation of his breath on her face as he raised his hand up to her.

“Gaston…” Belle shied, turning away. He pulled a small twig from her hair and showed it to her. Belle took it from his fingers, suddenly aware of how wild and windblown she must have looked.

“Come on, let’s see if you think you’re better than me at this as well.”


	13. Distractions

   They wandered on foot into the forest and found a small patch amongst the trees. Gaston handed Belle the bow and a single arrow.

“The chestnut tree straight ahead of you. The knot in the front of it is your target” he instructed. Belle held up the bow and loaded the arrow. She had seen the men practising their archery in the village and it did not seem particularly difficult, and in the stories she had read the heroes often used bows, so she felt confident in herself. She pulled back the string and released the arrow. The arrow fired dismally, landing only a few feet in front of her. Gaston roared with laughter, gripping his sides as he gasped for breath.

Belle narrowed her eyes and turned to him with irritation. “Another one” she demanded, holding out her hand. Gaston reached into his quiver and pulled out another arrow.

“Try and get this one a little further” he mocked, as he passed her the arrow. Belle notched the arrow and pulled back the bowstring. She stared down the arrow and aimed at her target.

“Don’t tilt your head so much” Gaston called out. Belle released the arrow, sending it flying past the chestnut tree and into the forest.

“You distracted me” Belle pouted, lowering the bow.

“Distractions happen,” Gaston shrugged, “and you’ll be going after that arrow. They’re expensive, you know”.

Belle turned as Gaston strutted over to her holding out another arrow. He stayed close, positioning himself behind her as she loaded the bow. Belle felt all his body against her as she pulled the string taut behind her ear. He ran his hand along her outstretched bow arm and his fingers on her grip.

“Relax your arm. Keep your thumb straight and use it as a guide” he whispered into her ear. He turned his head back to her loading arm, breathing her in as he went, and guided her elbow down with his fingers.

“Good” he murmured. He kept his face close to hers as he eased his large hardened hands down her sides. Belle could feel the stubbled on his jaw against her neck as he positioned his hands on her hips, turning her gently. His hands remained on her waist as he tapped her feet with his boot, correcting her position. Belle began to feel hot under his guidance and she bit down on her lip to keep focus. She could smell his rich masculine scent so closely, and felt her heart racing inside her. Gaston brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She felt him move his hand along her face, tipping her jaw with his index finger.

“Tuck in your chin and look down the arrow,” she felt his lips brush her ear.

“Sight your target,” she felt his hot breath against her neck.

“Release.”

Belle freed the arrow from her fingers, allowing it to propel from its restraints and into the cool air. The feathers of the arrow grazed her cheek as it flew past her and towards its target. The arrow kept a straight flight path and pierced the side of the chestnut tree with a thump. Belle gasped in delight at the sight of the arrow sticking out of the tree.

“I did it! Did you see that?” she squealed. Gaston looked at her casually and shrugged.

“It was alright for a first-timer” he dismissed, inspecting the dirt under his fingernails. Belle put her hands on her hips and turned at him.

“I suppose you can do better then?” she challenged, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. A smile crept onto Gaston’s face as he took the bow. He pulled an arrow from the quiver and loaded with speed. He stood strong with experience, lining up the shot, the flight path already charted in his head. He pulled the bowstring back until the tension could build no further and released the arrow. The arrow shot with severe accuracy, and hit the tree knot with force, almost penetrating through the back of the trunk. He looked to Belle to see if she was as impressed with his shot as what he was. But, Belle just rolled her eyes and sighed deeply.

“It was alright, I guess” she offered unamused, waving the air away with her hand. Gaston shook his head in disbelief and notched another arrow to prove his skill. He was lining up his shot when he felt her come up behind him.

She pressed herself against him and he could feel her breasts push into his back. Belle ran her hand down his back and across his stomach, her fingers stretched outwards feeling his abdomen, finally resting on his belt. She pulled him into her and breathed sweetly into his ear. Gaston’s heart quickened as he diverted his gaze over his shoulder and into her hazel eyes. She grazed her lips against his ear and whispered heavily.

“ _Release_.”

Gaston’s fingers mindlessly flicked off the arrow as it launched off target, firing rapidly into the deep forest. Belle watched as the arrow disappeared from sight and could not stop the grin from growing on her face. Gaston gasped and struggled to find his voice.

“I… I… missed” he stammered, shocked at the words as they left his mouth.

“I never miss. You… you distracted me!” he said defending himself quickly.

Belle walked over and picked up her first arrow still lying on the forest floor.

“Distractions happen,” she replied as she set off into the forest to retrieve her other arrows.

“And you better start looking for that arrow, I hear they’re expensive” she giggled to herself, quietly surprised at her own seductive nature. Gaston remained standing still, his arms dropped to his sides, his mouth gaping in disbelief as Belle wandering into the forest shrubbery searching for her missing arrow.


	14. Reasons

   “You never gave me a reason” Gaston called out to Belle as he followed her into the forest.

Belle’s heart sank. Secretly she had hoped he would have forgotten about it but, even she knew that was foolish.

“About what?” she replied, pretending to not know what he was asking in the hope that he would drop the subject.

“You know what, Belle” Gaston insisted. “I at least deserve a reason why.”

She knew deep inside of her that he was right. He did deserve an answer. Belle drew a deep breath and ran the reasons through her head, wondering which one would hurt the least.

“I…” she started. “I just don’t want to get married.” Her answer was honest at least. Gaston caught up with her and reached out to her. She felt him grab her arm but pretended to look at the forest undergrowth for her missing arrow.

“That’s ridiculous” he scoffed. “Every girl wants to get married.”

Belle pulled herself from his grip and put her hands on her hips.

“Well, I’m not every girl, okay! Maybe I don’t want to be just a housewife” she snapped back. Gaston crossed his arms across his chest, not accepting her response.

“What else? It can’t be just that” he asked. Belle turned and continued her search.

“Your temper, for a start” she called out to him as she spotted her arrow on the forest floor. Gaston stopped. He knew that was true.

“Anything else?” he asked, suddenly aware of his faults.

“Your drinking” she followed. Gaston ran his hands through his black hair and rested them at the back of his neck. He hated the truth sometimes, especially when it exposed his shortcomings.

“And your reputation” Belle finished.

“’My reputation?” he laughed amusingly. Belle turned back to him holding out her found arrow.

“The triplets?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow. She always secretly wanted to know whether it was real or another village rumour. Gaston couldn’t stop the grin growing across his face. He remembered that night well. Their father would have to pay a rather large dowry to any man that wanted to marry those girls after what he did with them. They had been trying to get him back in that bed ever since but he enjoyed keeping them on a promise. Belle recoiled in shock, suddenly realising it was all true.

“Why don’t you marry them then!” she shrieked back at him, shocked at her own jealousy. Gaston smirked and took the arrow from her.

“What? All three?” he laughed.

Belle left it at that. She wanted to tell him that it was because they were too different. She always hoped one day he would suddenly change and his inner self reflected his handsome exterior, and she would allow herself to love him.  But, she knew that was not a fair expectation of anyone. Loving him truly would mean accepting Gaston for who he was, faults and all. But would he accept her equally in return? Her need to question and learn. Her need to challenge the status quo and disappear into the stories in her books. She doubted it strongly. And that was why she turned down his marriage proposal. He would stay the same but she would have to change who she was, and she was not going to ever accept that.


	15. Too Many Candles

   They found Gaston’s stray arrow planted firmly in the roots of an old oak tree. Gaston looked up at the forest canopy, searching for the direction of the sun.

“We have to leave before it starts to get dark. The forest comes alive when the moon comes out” he said, turning back. Belle remembered her own experience with the forest at night. The trees seemed to grab at her, the branches tore at her face and pulled at her hair. And the yellow eyes. She did not want to be in the forest at night time again.

Their horses did not seem to even notice they had gone. Their noses were down, thoroughly enjoying the fresh growth. Gaston retightened the leather girths much to their horses’ disgust, and they made their way back through the forest and onto the grass clearing.

“You should stay for dinner tonight” Belle called out to him. Gaston smirked and turned in his saddle, his hand still planted firmly on his hip.

“Are you asking me to dinner, Belle?” he responded, Belle not knowing if he was making fun of her or was flattered by her request. Belle flicked her horse forward, and came up alongside him.

“It would make Madge happy” she responded. “She waits for you every night and gets disappointed when you don’t show”. Gaston raised an amused eyebrow at her, not accepting her response.

“You can go to your tavern anytime you want. One night away from it not going to hurt” she added. Gaston stared blankly at the path ahead of them. He could be so arrogant and selfish, Belle thought.

“Maybe” was his only response, as he urged his horse ahead and onto the worn path through the woods.

They made it out of the woods and to the cottage grounds as the sun was setting. Arthur was waiting for them at the gate, and held Ginger’s reins while Belle dismounted. Gaston remained firm in his saddle, his horse jittering at the cottage entrance. Madge appeared on the porch, her hands dusty from the bread she just prepared.

“Are you staying for dinner, Gaston?” she called out hopefully.

“I made you favourite” she added, trying desperately to make the offer more enticing. Gaston let his horse dance around as he struggled with his own mind. He looked down at Belle. Her hazel eyes looked back at him persuasively. Gaston groaned with defeat and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Yes, Madge” he called back. “I’m staying. If you have prepared enough” he added, knowing well that she would have. Madge squealed with joy and ran back into the kitchen.

Gaston jumped from his saddle and handed Arthur his reins. He stomped past Belle, not looking at her amused face.

“Don’t look at me like that” he snorted as he passed her. “And don’t think you had any influence on this.”

Belle hid her smile behind her hand and followed him inside. Knowing full well that she did.

Madge laid the food on the table in front of them, her chest puffed out with pride at her preparations. A haunch of venison sat in the middle, decorated with herbs from the cottage garden and marinated in wild honey collected from the woods behind them. The roasted potatoes had been freshly harvested and were covered with melted butter and garlic. Belle watched as Madge lit extra candles, perhaps to ensure her work could be fully appreciated. Gaston served himself some sweetmeat, and ate immediately. He certainly was not going to wait for anyone else before he fed himself. Belle rolled her eyes and moaned at his lack of manners.

“What?” he asked at her expression, his mouth full of food. Madge, on the other hand, took his gluttony as a compliment and topped up his plate with more potatoes.

“You have outdone yourself, Madge” he complimented, throwing his arm over the chair next to him. Madge blushed at the praise, her eyes sparkling in the cottage light.

“I have a pie cooling on the counter for afterwards” she advised as she removed her apron. Madge said her goodnights and retired for the evening. The cottage was suddenly quiet, only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the uncomfortable silence. Belle was suddenly aware of how many candles Madge had lit and became bashful at the realisation. She looked over at Gaston. He stared back at her grudgingly, his blue eyes sulking at her. She tutted at his pettiness. Surely doing something good could not be that hard for this man.

“You made Madge happy” she offered. “She wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Though, Belle knew how much Madge hoped and waited every night.

Gaston threw out his arms theatrically. “Well, I’m just full of surprises” he responded sarcastically. For such a large man, he could act like a child sometimes, Belle thought.

“Well, if it’s that hard to put your own needs aside for someone else’s happiness, maybe you should keep your surprises to yourself!” Belle yelled back at him. Gaston eyes were wide with the insult. His face looked as though she had slapped him. He clenched his jaw, struggling to withhold whatever words filled his mouth. He thumped his closed fist on the table, causing the dinnerware to jolt.

“Why do you have to be so difficult!” he roared at her in frustration. Belle pushed out her chair and stood defiantly to her feet.

“I’m going to bed” she returned, no longer willing to argue with him. She turned and walked down the hallway.

“Fine!” he yelled out to her.

“Fine!” she yelled back as she slammed the bedroom door closed, making sure she locked it in the process. He was always so selfish, she thought angrily.

Gaston sulked at the table. Why was she always so stubborn? He ran his hands through his black hair, spotted the pie cooling on the counter. At least he would not have to share dessert tonight.


	16. Last Leaves Of Autumn

   Belle woke to the sun gleaming through the bedroom window and the sounds of the birds chirping in the garden. She wandered out to the sitting area and was surprised to see Gaston sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying his breakfast. Madge was scurrying about in the kitchen, barely looking at Belle as she sat at the table.

“Good morning Madge” Belle greeted as she reached for a piece of toasted bread. Madge smiled back at her.

“Good morning, dear” she responded. Madge placed a food parcel in front of Gaston.

“There,” she started, “that should keep you going until dinner”. Gaston nodded his approval as he stuffed another egg into his mouth.

“You going somewhere?” Belle asked as she sipped her tea. Gaston swallowed, knowing how much it frustrated Belle when he talked with his mouth full.

“We are” he responded. “You need more practice with your archery and riding.” He waited to see if Belle would defend her pride but, she just shrugged.

“I was hoping to read more of my book” she responded. Gaston glared at her, his eyes losing their sparkle.

“You can read another time” he replied shortly. Belle wondered if he was doing this to get her away from her book. By the time Belle finished her breakfast and tea, their horses were saddled and waiting for them out the front.

Gaston’s black stead led the way through the woods and onto the clearing. He pointed out the different trees and the uses they provided. Belle listened to him, quietly surprised of his knowledge of the area. Gaston pulled up his horse and dismounted in the grass. Belle looked down to him from her high position as he stood alongside her horse. He removed his riding gloves and placed his hand on her boot.

“Heels down” he instructed as he corrected her riding position. He ran his bare hand up her leg and settled on her knee.

“Grip here” he added, as he guided her leg. Belle felt herself flush when he touched her. For such a strong man, he could be incredibly gentle when he wanted to. The way he ran his hand along her leg, sent tremors up her that settled in her stomach. She listened to him intensively. She was learning. Her mind rejoiced at the new challenge, while her pride grew with substance.

He lifted her leg back at the knee so her heel gently touched Ginger’s side.

“Flick back like this to get a better response from her” he said. He lowered her leg back and placed one hand on the small of her back and the other across her abdomen. Belle moved with his touch, straightening her seating position. Gaston smiled with approval at her response. His blue eyes caught the sunlight when he looked up at her, and seemed to dance. Belle felt her lips tingle and her cheeks blush as she realised for a moment she had forgotten to breath.

“Head across the clearing into the forest. See how she responds” he instructed as he remounted. Belle flicked at Ginger as Gaston had shown her and found Ginger launch into a balanced gallop. She felt light in her saddle as her red horse responded to her movement. She could hear Gaston’s black stead behind her, his black hooves tearing up the grass. Belle led the way to the forest path and back to the bubbling stream. The forest seemed so much more familiar now. They tied their horses under a shady tree and made their way back to their chestnut tree.

Gaston watched as Belle loaded his bow and practised her archery skills. He smiled with pride when her arrow came close to her target, and took it upon himself to correct her position with his hands when he felt she needed the guidance. Belle was surprised at how difficult it actually was, but she kept that thought to herself. She was also surprised on how much she was enjoying herself. Learning was never far from her mind, but learning outside a book was something different.

When she felt herself getting tired and sore, Gaston took over, though he clearly did not need the practice. Belle was tempted to correct his position at times, and run her hands over him the way he did with her but, she thought better of it. Gaston eventually decided it was time to eat and they made their way back to the embankment to enjoy the lunch Madge had prepared them.

Belle laid down on the deep undergrowth and stared up at the green canopy, looking for hints of the blue sky to appear beyond it. She sometimes wondered what was beyond their little village, over the mountains and into the horizon.

“Have you been past the mountains?” she asked Gaston casually. He looked down at her from his seated position next to her, watching as she stared into the sky. She could be so bewildering, he thought.

“I have” he offered back. Belle sat up on her arms, intrigued by his response.

“What is out there?” she asked, looking at him with all her attention. Gaston tried to hide a bashful smile at her sudden interest in him. He ran his hand through his hair, wondering what he could say to keep her interest.

“Over those mountains” he said pointing east towards the snow topped mountains just beyond the stream, “is Switzerland, and if you cross this stream and follow it against the current you will reach the mouth of the river which takes you to the border.” He stopped for a moment and looked at the sun, before looking through the forest trees to their left.

“And that is the way to Paris” he pointed. Belle’s eyes followed the direction of his outstretched arm. She wondered how easy it would be to ride off one day, to live each day not knowing what it would bring. Belle sighed deeply at the thought and dropped backed to the forest floor dreamily, reaching up at the falling autumn leaves as they descended from the trees above.

“Have you ever wanted to just ride to where the road and path ends, and then just keep going? Like an adventure” Belle asked vaguely, almost to herself. Gaston raised a cynical eyebrow at her.

“You read too many books” he snorted back at her. Belle smiled at his retort.

“And you don’t read enough” she responded with an easy grin. Gaston could not stop the laugh that escaped him. He looked down at her lying next to him on the ground staring absentmindedly at the sky. He felt a stray leaf fall onto his hair and went to flick it off when Belle moved her hand to him.

“Let me” she said softly as she brushed the orange leaf from him. He held his breath as she kept her hand close to him, running the tips of her fingers through his dark hair. She looked up at him inquisitively, her eyes taking in his handsome face. Her mouth was open, allowing her rapid breath to escape quickly. Her breast was flicking with every heartbeat, as Gaston bit down on his bottom lip. The fresh air agreed with her, her beauty radiating in the dappled sunlight. He leaned into her slowly, and ran the fingers on his bandaged hand across her panting lips. Belle felt herself pull him into her, his face so close to hers. She looked up into his blue eyes, looking for whatever secrets were hidden behind them. She could smell his rich scent and her body tingled at it. Belle gasped as he ran his large hand down her side, resting on her thigh. Her body warmed to his touch and excitement filled her as she felt her skirt slowly being drawn higher. Gaston brought himself closer to her lips, gently grazing them with his own. He could not help his body from responding to her, wanting her. He bit on his lip. He could have her right now. Right now she would willingly open herself to him and let him enjoy her. But, something niggled in the back of his mind. Something that stopped him from pulling her skirt any higher.

She deserved better than this. She was no tavern wench to be taken in a dark corner. Her adventure was just beginning, and certainly was not going to end on a bed of rotting leaves on the forest floor. He closed his eyes, frustrated at himself. Belle looked up at him, her eyes searching for answers.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, sounding worried. Gaston looked up at the stream and narrowed his eyes.

“Pass me my bow” he whispered urgently as he moved quietly. Belle felt sudden panic at his request and passed his hunting bow to him. She looked at what had caught his interest and saw something approach the running stream.

A brown deer slowly approached the water, looking cautiously as it went. Belle saw its large antlers that decorated its head like a crown, showing its strength and the battles it had won. Belle held her breath at the sight of its large brown eyes, so similar in colour to her own. Its long eyelashes flicking at the light. She turned to Gaston to see if he appreciated the wonderful sight as much as what she did, and saw him lining up an arrow with a hunter’s look in his eyes.

“Please don’t do it!” she hissed at him. Gaston ignored her, his mind on the hunt, his target in sight. Belle carefully went behind him, pressing herself against his back.

“Please” she pleaded again, “it is too beautiful to be mounted on your wall.” Belle looked at him desperately. She ran her hand along his outstretched bow arm and met his grip.

“Please” she asked one more time, “for me”. He diverted his gaze over his shoulder and met her desperate hazel eyes. He looked at the innocence of her, the sweetness that reflected through her. He let her guide his bow arm down and reduced the tension on the bowstring. He exhaled loudly, causing the deer to scatter in fright. Belle watched as the deer disappeared into the protection of the trees. She threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his back.

“Thank you” he heard her mumble to him. He was glad she could not see the sour expression on his face at that moment. She was truly going to be the end of him.


	17. Village Scandal

   Gaston stayed for dinner again that night, much to Madge’s delight. In fact, he stayed at the cottage for the week. They spent their days together riding past the woods and onto the grass clearing for Belle’s riding lessons, and then into the dark forest for archery practice. They did not spot the deer again, or any other deer for that matter, suggesting that winter was close and hunting season would be over, as Gaston was loathed to tell Belle whenever the opportunity arose. They would then ride back to the cottage as the sun disappeared behind the mountains and settled at the table for another one of Madge’s marvellous dinners.

At the end of the day, Gaston would boast to Madge of Belle’s improvements with her riding and laughing at the state of their chestnut tree, permanently carved from their arrows. Madge was captivated by his stories, the way he described the forest and how he threw his hands around to assist with the storytelling. Belle always listened quietly. She could not help but be drawn into his stories, even if his version of the events always seemed slightly exaggerated and in his favour.

After finishing another one of Madge’s dinners, Belle watched as Madge remove her apron and set to retire for the evening.

“I will see you both in the morning for another day” Madge smiled at them. Gaston rested his hands on the table.

“I have some things to sort out in the village tomorrow, so I will be gone early” he said. Madge breathed in deeply, and nodded silently at him. She said her goodnights and left for the evening. Belle looked over the table at him.

“Can I come too?” she asked, suddenly not sure if she was bound to the cottage grounds or not. Gaston exhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing at her.

“Please” Belle asked. “My father might be there and I could see him again.” That was half true. The likelihood of her father leaving their cottage basement was not good but, there was always that chance. Gaston moved in his seat, his face showing sudden empathy.

“Alright,” he sighed. “But I’m leaving early make sure you are ready.”

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   They rode into the village together, their horses somewhat confused by the change in direction of their morning ride. Belle could not help but be excited. She had not been back to the village in weeks, not since the meeting with the Royal Administrator that cold night.

Perhaps she would see her father in town, though it was not likely. Maurice rarely left the basement of their home. She listened to the change of sound as Ginger’s shod hooves moved from the soft ground to the hard cobble stone road that lead into the town centre. It was mid-morning and the village was alive with people. The market stalls were bursting with fresh produce, while villagers haggled prices with the vendors.

Belle was surprised to see a strong military presence still in the village. Surely they had collected all the taxes they could by now. There were soldiers were everywhere. Their sharp blue and white uniforms standing out against the commoners’ worn faded clothes. She let Ginger fall behind Gaston’s black horse as he led the way into the town centre.

Belle watched as people turned to watch her ride by, feeling suddenly self-conscience at the attention she was causing.  Belle looked back at the curious faces looking up at her as she rode through the village. A group of ageing housewives pointed at her as she rode passed them, then cocked their heads together to gossip even further. Gaston dismounted at the front of the tavern and Belle followed.

“I have to sort some stuff out,” he said as he secured their horses to the holding rail. “You go do what you want and I will meet your back here in an hour”.

Belle ran her hand down Ginger’s long neck as she watched Gaston go inside the tavern. He’s probably making up for all those nights drinking lost at the cottage, she thought as to herself as she wondered where she go first.

Belle pulled her hood from her head and removed her gloves. She turned to see the group of older housewives staring at her with interest, sniggering amongst themselves. Belle rolled her eyes at their nosey behaviour.  The village always looked for a scandal, which provided a source of entertainment in such a sleepy town. They were certainly not going to get anything from her.

Belle wandered mindlessly through the village. She walked through the markets, breathing in the smells from the bakery stand and drawing awe at the different coloured fish for sale. She weaved through the crowds, enjoying the commotion in the streets. The solitude of the cottage was wonderful, but she did not realise how much she missed noise until she was amongst it.

She ignored the stares and turning heads as she made her way through the crowds and to the bookstore. At least no one would bother her in there. She listened for the familiar sound of the doorbell as she went through the front door. Belle looked for the friendly smile of the elderly bookkeeper, and instead, found the store empty. The shelves were covered only in dust. Some packing boxes sat remaining on the floor, the contents only partly full. Belle walked around the empty store, her heart breaking with overwhelming sadness at the sight of it. She ran her fingers along the store counter, leaving a trail in the heavy dust that covered it. An elderly woman wandered out from behind a bookcase, her arms overflowing with books.

“Sorry love, I didn’t realise someone was here” she called out to Belle. Belle rushed to help the woman with her load, placing the books onto the counter.

“What happened?” Belle asked. The woman sighed, stifling back a sob.

“He couldn’t pay so they took him away” the woman replied, her shoulders heavy with the news. Belle did not ask for more details. She knew what the woman meant. The bookkeeper was a kindly old man that would not survive the labour camps.

“It’s just not fair!” the woman wailed, dropping the books in her arms. Belle moved to her and helped her find a seat.

“The poorer get poorer, and the richer get richer!” she sobbed. Belle could feel the anger rising in her. That could have been her father dragged away in the night. No, it would have been her. But Gaston saved her from that fate. Belle felt her stomach knot. She realised she had not yet even thanked him for what he did. Guilt overwhelmed her as she held the sobbing woman.

Belle left the empty store and made her way back to the tavern. She looked at the ground as she walked suddenly feeling ashamed that she had criticised his lack of manners and yet, completely overlooked her own. Belle was deep in thought when she bumped into someone.

“I’m sorry,” she offered her apologies as she tried to walk away. She felt a sharp grip on her arm and looked up to the person behind the assaulting grip.

“This is the one I have been telling you about, boys” smirked Lieutenant Jacques to the group of soldiers behind him. Belle pulled back against his grip but the lieutenant pulled her closer to him, sneering in her face. She struggled to breathe against the overpowering scent of his heavy perfume, the smell causing her head to spin. He grabbed her chin as he licked the spit from his lips.

“Let go of me!” she screamed at him, pushing against his chest. Jacques laughed at her and pushed her back.

“Full of spirit, this one. I can see why she fetched such a high price!” he smirked to his comrades. “I hope he is getting his money's worth out of you.”

The group of soldiers behind him laughed, patting each other on the back in jest. Belle straightened herself and tried to walk past them, ignoring their crude comments.

“Where are you going, my dear?” the lieutenant called to her as she pushed her way through the soldiers.

“I am meeting Gaston at his tavern” she answered as she walked away in the hope that the sound of Gaston’s name would stop their vulgar behaviour.

“Oh,” she heard Jacques call to her.

“But it’s not his tavern any more”.

Belle stopped and turned to the lieutenant, not sure she heard him correctly.

“What did you say?” she asked him as he approached her. He strutted with a snide smile that cut across his face. His eyes were dark and focused on her as he approached. He stood closely, looking down at her as though she were a lowly creature.

“Did he not tell you?” Jacques retorted amusingly, his eyes wide with mock empathy, grabbing at his chest in a dramatic fashion.

“That is what he traded. You for his tavern.” Belle felt her heart sank at the sound of the words. That tavern had been in his family for generations, inherited through the first born son. It was the only connection that he had to his father’s family, and now it was gone. Belle’s eyes darted across the ground as every time she thought him to be selfish, self-centred and egotistical suddenly filled her mind with remorse. She bit her lip. Surely, this was a cruel joke. The lieutenant was a nasty man, perhaps he means only to cause trouble. Belle turned from him and ran back to the tavern.

Belle saw LeFou standing out the front of the tavern, trying desperately to win the affections of a voluptuous redhead. The woman brushed off his compliments and walked away from him, leaving him standing alone on the path. He spotted Belle and smiled a toothy grin.

“Hi Belle” he started friendly enough. “How is this wonderful autumn weather…”

Belle could not wait for small talk, and interrupted him.

“Did Gaston trade his tavern to pay my father’s debts?” she asked urgently. LeFou shifted uncomfortably in his boots, struggling to make eye contact.

“Umm,” he stuttered. “Well, he…” Belle looked at him desperately.

“Please LeFou, I need to know” LeFou looked up at her, his eyes telling every ounce of truth. Belle gasped at the realisation.

 _He did_.

“Please don’t tell him you spoke to me about it” Lefou begged Belle. “He never wanted you to know”. Belle nodded at him as she reached out to Ginger to steady herself. Belle and LeFou looked up to see Gaston leave the tavern. His face was worn, almost defeated.

He had not come to the village to satisfy his thirst, Belle thought. He had come to sign over the ownership of his beloved tavern.

Gaston’s face lit up when he saw Belle waiting for him at their horses. She smiled back at him as he approached. Belle helped him pull his leather glove over his bandaged hand, watching him stretch his fingers as she went.

“I can remove the bandage tonight” she offered. “Your hand is all healed”. Gaston simply nodded. Belle wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him close but, watched as he silently mount his black horse, staring thoughtfully at the tavern. Belle quietly mounted Ginger, ignoring the nosey villagers staring up at her.

They rode alongside each other in silence, through the village streets and all the way back to the cottage. Belle now understood why everyone in the village was so interested in her.

She was the scandal.


	18. Choices

   The open fireplace lit the cottage with a warm orange glow, lighting it against the darkness of the night, as Belle and Gaston sat on the thick rug in front of it. Belle carefully freed his hand from the bandage, gently turned his exposed hand over.

“See, all good” he reassured, stretching out his fingers. Belle kept his hand in hers and ran her fingers along the calloused scars.

“I heard what you did for me today. In the village, they said you gave up your tavern for me” Belle looked up into his face, her hazel eyes dancing in the flickering light. Gaston felt his stomach still raw from earlier that day. His heart thumped against his chest as he shifted uncomfortably on the rug. He never wanted her to find out, though he knew it would just be a matter of time. He did not want her pity, her to feel sorry for him. He wanted her to love him.

“Thank you” she said gratefully. Her face was sincere, illuminated by the glow of the fire. Her lips seemed as dark as her hair in the light, generous and full.  He leaned into her gradually and pressed his lips against hers. He realised himself and pulled back, biting down his bottom lip.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have” he started, turning his head back to the fire. Belle felt her heart quicken inside of her. She placed her hands on the sides of his face and brought him back to her. She met his gaze and leaned into him, placing her warm tingling lips onto his. She felt his jaw work as he desperately kissed her back, placing his hand behind her head and she allowed him to open her mouth with his tongue. 

His anxious wet lips moved down her neck and found a sweet spot below her ear causing Belle to lose herself for a moment. Gaston trailed his hand down her shoulder and over her breast, gently caressed it. Belle moaned at the sensation and felt herself become hot with longing.

Belle felt herself fall deep into his sharp blue eyes, brushing his dark hair away from them. She indulged herself on how handsome he was, the light licking against his strong face. She ran her fingers over his lips, and he charmingly kissed the palm of her open hand causing her to smile blushingly. Belle could feel the turmoil growing inside her, physically she wanted to experience him, open herself to him and embrace the night. But, what would come of it? What of tomorrow?

Gaston pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. Belle drew awe at his bare chest as he set to work removing her dress. Belle watched as he unlaced her front bodice with perhaps, a little too much experience. He pulled her dress down from her shoulders, and then from her completely. When her exposed breasts prickled in the cool air, sudden shyness overcame her and covered herself with her arms.

“Never hide who you are” he instructed, looking deep within her as he guided her arms down. Belle made her choice, and accepted his embrace as he lowered her to the floor.

He brought himself on top her and kissed and licked her breast, admiring the sweetness of them. Belle gasped at the sensation of him moving his wet mouth over her nipple, playing with it until it was hard. She began to wonder how many other women he had done that to, and felt herself become aroused at the thought of it. He then grasped her breast with his scarred hand, feeling her heart beating rapidly underneath it and brought his lips back to hers.

Belle felt shocked in herself that she was allowing Gaston to touch her so intimately and to see her so exposed. But mostly at the realisation that she no longer felt any resistance or bitterness towards this man, but something new and undiscovered.   These new raw emotions ran through her body, finishing warmly between her legs.

She could feel him hard against her thighs as Gaston trailed his hand down her body, running his fingers over her navel and towards her mound. He pulled her delicate underwear aside and massaged her with his fingers. Belle’s eyes grew wide as she gasped at the feeling. He gently moved his fingers inside her, just enough to get her ready for him. Belle felt her legs open at his touch and the sensation building. She arched her back as he worked her, and let out a pleasurable moan. Gaston felt her body move underneath him and smiled at his work. She was now ready for him.

As Belle caught her breath he guided her hand to his pants, encouraging her to reach into him. She untied him, feeling him swollen and ready underneath. She touched him, running her hand along him causing him to moan her name in delight of her soft touch. Unable to restrain himself any longer he pulled his pants the rest of the way down. She had secretly always wanted to know what he would look like underneath his clothes and stared with admiration as he knelt naked in front of her. He lifted her hips and pulled her underwear off her, flicking them aside and into the darkness. As she lay naked before him, her arms stretched above her head, he looked into her eyes.

“You sure?” he asked, waiting for her consent.

“Yes” Belle responded, reaching up to him.

Gaston smiled at that, and lowered himself onto her, sliding his hands along her thighs, opening them to him as he went. As he positioned himself between her legs, he kissed the sweet spot on her neck and whispered into her ear.

“This will hurt a bit but it gets better” he reassured. He gripped her naked hip to hold her still, not wanting her to feel any more pain than she had to. Belle’s eyes opened wide with shock as felt him enter inside her and yelped in pain. Gaston gently rocked himself in and out of her, allowing her to adjust to his large size and heavy weight, claiming her maidenhood for his own. Her body moved underneath him, rising with each thrust he made. Gaston guided her outstretched arms to his back as he finally allowed himself to push in deeper. She could feel his back muscles working as he moved on top of her, his grunting breath on her neck. Belle felt his strong thighs move between hers and lifted her legs around his waist as the pain eased, relaxing into his pumping rhythm. Gaston gripped her waist tightly and began to quicken his thrust at the sound of Belle’s rapid breath in his ear. His breath hastened and he panted her name with agreeance.

Belle could feel an incredible sensation building through her as she grabbed at his black hair. Gaston found her lips and tasted her as she tensed up underneath him, the sensation growing. She gasped out, pushing herself against his hard body, grabbing desperately at his flexing back. Belle tilted her head back, moaning with satisfaction as she reached her climax. The sight of Belle satisfied, calling his name, caused Gaston to lose his concentration, reaching his sooner than he had intended. His face etched a pain expression, his mouth wide drawing in breath, his lip shivering. Belle felt his body tremor as he thrusted a couple more times, feeding his tenderness. Gaston collapsed on top of her, staying between her legs, inside her, not wanting to ever leave this moment. Belle ran her fingers along his back, starting to feel the ache between her legs.

Belle whimpered slightly when he finally pulled himself from her and rolled onto his back, running his hand through his hair. Belle turned into him and placed her head on his sweat covered torso. She felt his arm wrap around her, holding her close. She ran her fingers through the dark hair across his chest and watched as it flicked with his heart beat.

“So _that’s_ why the triplets are so keen on you?” Belle giggled, breaking the sudden silence of the room. Gaston snorted into loud laughter, shocked by the absolute inappropriateness of her comment. Everything was always so mystifying with Belle, he thought. But he would take the compliment, as always. Gaston kissed her sweetly on her forehead as he wrapped his arms around her, and she began to feel sleep overwhelm her. She never felt as safe as she did right then in his arms. She would deal with any repercussions in the morning.

 


	19. The Cold Sunrise

   It was the cold that woke them that morning. Had the fireplace remain lit, they would never had stirred. Belle felt her body prickle in the morning air and rolled over to look for something to cover her naked body with. Gaston, realising she was no longer curled into him, lifted his head to look for her. He smiled at the sight of her naked body next to him as the morning sun gleamed through the windows, lighting up the room. He rolled over to her and wrapped his arms around her providing the warmth she was looking her.

He breathed in the smell of her hair and kissed her softly on the nape of her neck. Belle bit down on her bottom lip. She wanted to stay with him on the floor forever, his leg over hers, the excitement she felt as he explored her with his fingers but, she knew that at some point, they would have to rise and face reality. What that reality was, she was not sure. But, until then, Belle was going to enjoy this moment. He nibbled the back of her shoulder, trying to entice her to let him between her legs again.

“The sun’s up” she said to him. Gaston stopped what he was doing and looked up at the sunlight peering through the window. He always woke before the sun. The night haunted him and made his sleep restless. But for the first time in a long time, the sun beat him out of bed.

“So it is” he offered back, turning Belle towards him. Belle could not help smiling up at him. He leaned in and brought his lips onto hers.

“We better get up. I have something planned” he finally added, though incredibly tempted to have her again. Belle watched as he lifted himself from the floor and pulled his pants back on.

“Should I be worried?” Belle asked, as she watched Gaston search for his shirt.

“I’m taking you into the forest to teach you how to shoot a rifle” he responded, finally finding his shirt behind a chair. Belle went to respond when she heard the front door open.

Madge wandered in carrying a basket of eggs, humming to herself, getting ready to prepare for the morning. She toiled in the kitchen seemingly unaware of the people in the next room. As Belle desperately grabbed for her dress to cover herself, Madge turned and shrieked in fright at the sight of them. Madge clutched her chest as her eyes darted rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“Good morning Madge” Gaston offered as he walked passed her putting his shirt on. Madge watched Gaston walk outside, and then looked back to Belle, still grasping her chest from the fright.  Belle searched the floor frantically for her underwear wondering where Gaston could have thrown them. She suddenly looked up and saw then dangling in front of her face.

“Looking for these, dear” Madge asked amusingly, holding Belle’s underwear by the tips of her fingers. Belle sheepishly took her underwear from Madge’s grip, not able to look the grinning woman in the face.

“I see you and Gaston are finally getting along” Madge added as she walked back to the kitchen to prepare for the day.


	20. Its All In The Swing

   They rode beyond the woods, through the grass clearing and onto the dark forest path. Belle reached out to the last of the autumn flowers that hung faintly from the trees as she went. She was in a dream that she did not want to be woken from. Gaston allowed her to lead them into the forest, testing her ability to remember the way. His black mount jittering and snorting with frustration at being held back. Belle heard the water before she saw it through the trees, and turned Ginger down the familiar path and towards the embankment.

Once their horses were secured, Belle watched as he pulled his rifle from the worn scabbard secured to his saddle. Gaston led Belle back to their chestnut tree, permanently etched from their archery practices.

Belle nervously took the rifle when he offered it to her, and allowed him to move her into position.

“Is it loud?” she asked nervously. Gaston moved her elbow up and tilted her head away from the flint.

“It’s not loaded,” he reassured. “You need to get used to it before you even think to put any gunpowder near it.”

Belle felt relief at that. She certainly preferred the swiftness of archery to the explosive smoke of gunfire.

“Do you have it loaded and ready when you go out hunting?” she asked as she tried to adjust herself to the surprising weight of the rifle. Gaston scoffed.

“Only an idiot leaves it loaded,” he replied. “It could go off accidently and you’ll shoot yourself in the foot.”

Belle listened as he explained the flintlock and how to load it. He showed her how to pull the hammer back with her thumb and squeeze the trigger.

“The first shot is the most accurate” he advised. “Because of the build-up in the barrel. Unless you are cleaning between reloading but, no one has time for that.”

“I don’t see why I need to learn this” Belle questioned as she felt Gaston brush her hair from her face.

“In case you get attacked, or something” he mumbled as he brought his anxious lips to the sweet spot below her ear.

“I’ll just hit them if I have to” she added, trying not to snicker as the words left her mouth. Gaston pulled back and laughed.

“I’ve felt your slap,” he snorted. “And you hit like a girl!” He laughed loudly, amused at his wit, as Belle narrowed her eyes at him. She turned quickly, the rifle still positioned in her grip, making Gaston glad that he did not load the rifle after all.

“I can slap you again” she teased. Gaston reached over and removed the rifle from her grip. He stepped into her, embracing her with all his love. Belle threw her arms around his neck, and met his lips with hers. Their kiss was complete passion, stirring something deep inside Belle. They finally pulled themselves back, panting and gasping for air.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to hit properly then” Gaston smirked, still tasting Belle on his lips.

Gaston stood opposite to Belle as she positioned herself into a boxing stance. It took every ounce of his strength to not collapse into laughter at the sight of her. It was all or nothing with Belle, and he accepted that. He adjusted her footing, cheekily running his hands over her as he went.

“Fists up” he instructed as he held his palms up at her. “Now, give me your best”

Belle swang at him, almost tripping in the process, her closed fist slapping his hand. Gaston rolled his eyes dramatically.

“That was pathetic” he retorted.

“I’m smaller than you, and not as strong” she defended herself. Gaston walked over to her and corrected her position.

“I’ve seen small men take down much bigger blokes. It’s all in the swing. You have to throw all your weight behind it. Step into your opponent as you strike” he guided, tapping her leg with instruction. Belle was determined. Gaston positioned himself in front of her again, his flat palms facing her. Belle swung again, pushing her weight behind her closed fist.

“Good. Good” Gaston encouraged. “Now step forward with your front leg as you go”. Belle tried again, surprised at her own strength as she watched Gaston’s hand flinch back at the impact.

“That hurt!” he laughed, rubbing his hand. “Good.” Belle stared up at him as she joined in with his contagious laughter, suddenly aware of him.

She could smell him, still taste him on her lips. Her heart fought hard in her chest as she became immersed in his bright blue eyes. At that moment, Belle felt every breath that entered and exited her mouth. It was all new but, she knew what she was feeling. Belle could no longer hear the sounds of the trees or the chirping of the hidden birds. She could not feel the gently breeze as it whispered across her face, or the smell of the dense undergrowth. There was only him.

Gaston saw the change in her face, a change in the way she looked at him. Her cheeks filled with colour and her hazel eyes no longer fought him. He realised then that she loved him. She said nothing, and yet, he knew. Gaston gasped at the realisation, biting his trembling lip at the sudden acceptance that consumed him. He ran his hand across her face, tracing her open lips with his thumb. His blue eyes became cloudy with emotion as he pulled her into him. Belle brought her lips to his and they embraced each other. No words had to be said.

They were consumed in each other as Belle felt her back against their chestnut tree. Gaston had to have her again. Belle felt the excitement of his touch as he lifted her legs around his waist, running his hands along her thighs. Belle reached to his belt, frantically unleashing him as he lifted her dress above her waist. She wanted him again, right there against their target tree. She felt him pull at her underwear, hearing it tear from her. She gasped with delight as he warmed her up with his fingers. In that moment of pleasure, she forgot his pants, grabbing his head and panting at the sky. He sucked on her neck unsure of how long he would be able to restrain himself. As Belle tightened her thighs around him, he pulled himself free from his pants. She felt the tip of him as he lowered her onto him and gasped at the sensation of him entering her. He grabbed her naked hips and thrusted at her desperately. Belle grabbed at his dark hair, her mouth open with the thrill. Belle’s hair fell loose from its restraints as her back moved up and down their tree. She was in ecstasy, the natural high driving through her body. She could feel him hard inside her and his hot breath on her neck. She grabbed at his back as she felt herself becoming light and sensual. As she was building rapidly, Gaston was desperately trying to withhold his. It came through her like an electric current, shaking her body as it peaked. Gaston groaned with release, finally allowing himself to finish.

They fell to the forest floor exhausted, panting for breath. Gaston pulled his pants back up and adjusted himself back in, spotting Belle’s torn underwear to his side. He smiled with satisfaction as he passed them to her.

“Well” he started. “I’ve never done that in the forest before.” He pulled himself onto his knees, still trying to catch his breath.

Belle lay on top of the damp undergrowth, inspecting the damage to her underwear.

That was the second time that day that someone had passed them to her.


	21. Found and Lost

   They made their way back to the cottage when the sun moved behind the fir trees and began to set in the mountains. Gaston swayed in his saddle, watching Belle ride confidently ahead of him. He observed as she tapped her horse with her inside leg and gave Ginger a little more rein. Despite her stubbornness, she had listened to him and applied his coaching to her riding. He smiled, wondering whether he would mention his observations, but decided the ego boost was not worth the argument. She had her pride as well. They left the path and ventured into the forest, following the watercourse upstream.

He never felt such happiness as he did at that moment. He made a decision during that ride. He was going to ask her again. After she turned him down the first time he vowed to never give her the chance to expose him like that again. He faced the humiliation, his ego and reputation devastated, much to the enjoyment of the bored village gossips. He whored and drank heavily to stop the pain, to prove that he did not care but, at the end of it, he just felt hollow.

He was always attracted to her physical beauty, most of the men in the village were. He pursued her as though she were an elusive deer, a trophy to be won. But there was something else that fascinated him. Something that almost made him feel uneasy at times. He desperately tried to replace her with other women of equally beauty and with much easier, more agreeable personalities. But they never fulfilled him and he was always drawn back to Belle. Something beyond her pretty face enchanted him, captivated him. Something almost familiar. He tried to not want her. She was stubborn, argumentative, inquisitive, and most of all, frustrating. But, she was amazing. She had her own thoughts, and a sense of pride that could rival his own. She did not want to be rescued. She wanted to save herself.

It was then Gaston realised it was not his handsome looks or his wealth she fell in love with. It was just him. And now he felt whole again. Almost at peace.

Belle guided Ginger along, absorbing the secrets of the forest, navigating their way through the setting sun. They made it back to the cottage as the sun finally rested, their horses bored with the lack of adventure and eager for their stable. Belle let Gaston help her from Ginger, gazing into his eyes as he lifted her charmingly from the saddle. She looked up at him and brushed his black hair from his face. Gaston leaned in and kissed her as she embraced him with her arms.

The scuffling sound of Arthur’s boots kicking up dust interrupted them. They smiled sheepishly as they handed Arthur the reins to their horses and headed inside. Gaston held her hand and led her into the cottage as she tried to hide her blushing smile. Perhaps they would make it to the bedroom this time, Belle thought devilishly. Madge had already lit the fireplace and retired for the evening, perhaps not willing to interrupt them again.

Gaston made his way into the kitchen looking for a fresh feed. He walked around her, trailing his fingers cheekily down the small of her back and over the curve of her waist, causing her to shiver with delight.

Seeing Gaston busy searching the kitchen determined for a meal to fill his never ending appetite, Belle picked up her book still resting where she left it in the sitting room, and flicked to her last reading spot. Gaston looked at her from the kitchen with thought.

“Go on, read to me then” he said as he sat next to her on the lounge.

“Really?” Belle replied, looking up from her book surprised. Gaston stretched his legs onto the lounge and rested his head on her lap.

“Yeah. Let’s see what’s so great about this book” he offered back, placing one of his arms behind his head and resting it onto Belle’s leg. Belle felt her mouth twitch with a smile and she turned the book back to the first page.

Gaston listened quietly and stared into the fireplace as she read softly from the pages. He felt himself become free and dreamy at the sound of her voice echoing through the cottage. Belle ran her fingers through his dark hair as she read, causing him to moan with satisfaction.

He stared mindlessly into the fireplace and became lost in the flames as they licked against the wood, the crackling noise slowly drowning out Belle’s soft voice.

_RUN_

He tried to blink away the memory but it crept into his mind like spider tiptoeing from the shadows.

_RUN, screamed the eyes._

He then realised that Belle had stopped reading though still gently running her fingers through his hair.

“What happened in the back room, Gaston?” she asked quietly. Gaston sat up quickly and pulled himself off the lounge.

“Do not ever ask me about that” he said firmly, walking away from her and towards the fireplace. Belle closed her book and rested it on her lap.

“If you talk about it, it might help” she offered. “But you need to be honest with me.”

Gaston turned with anger, his fists clenched. He swiped his arm across the mantle sending the contents flying across the floor.

“I told you to stop!” he yelled back at her.

_RUN!_

He put his hands up to his head and covered his ears, trying to block out the voice. Belle slowly lifted herself from the lounge and walked cautiously towards him.

“If you just open up to me, I could help” she offered, reaching her hand out to him. “What are you so afraid of?”

Gaston dropped his hands from his face, his eyes dark with fury and disgust.

“Afraid?” he choked. “I am afraid of no one!” He stormed over to her and saw the book still in her hand. He grabbed her arm and snatched the book from her grip.

“It’s because you read these stupid books and get those ideas in your head!” he screamed, his eyes wild with rage. He released his hand and flicked her book into the fireplace.

“No!” Belle shrieked as she reached towards the flames. Gaston grabbed her and held her back from the fire as she helplessly watched her book burn. Gaston watched as the book turned black and curled in the fire. He knew he had gone too far, possibly beyond return. He released his grip on Belle and she fell to the floor sobbing. Gaston bit his lip and looked at the ruined book. He felt the tears swarm in his eyes as sudden dread filled him, his stomach feeling sick and raw.

“I… I didn’t…” he started. Belle stood up and swung at him, slapping him sharply across his face. He felt his cheek burn from the strike.

“I hate you!” she shouted at him, her anger consuming her. She swung at him again but he grabbed her arms and restrained them behind her back. He looked desperately into her eyes, trying to find a way to make it right. He watched as Belle sobbed and gasped for air.

“I never want anything to do with you again!” she finally exhaled as she fought against him. Gaston turned his head away from her as his tears ran down his face.

“Then go” he said meekly, releasing her from his grip. Belle stumbled backwards, her eyes wide with shock.

“What did you say?” she whispered back.

“You’re free. You can go.” Gaston leaned against the mantle and stared into the fire. Belle’s eyes darted around the room, struggling to focus. She had to make a decision right then. She turned and ran out of the cottage door, grabbing her cloak on the way.

Madge came scurrying out from behind the cottage, lifting her skirt as she ran.

“What’s… what happening? I heard shouting” she called worryingly. Belle called out to her.

“Tell Arthur to saddle Ginger. I’m leaving tonight.”

Gaston listened, unmoving from the mantle, as Belle rode off in the darkness in the direction of the village.

She had found him, and he had lost her in one day.


	22. Wild Flowers And Sunlight

   The door creaked as he pushed it open with a nervous hand. The room was swallowed by the darkness, but he knew what it looked like. It was burned in his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. Gaston took a step through the doorway and felt his hands become clammy. Each step he took was in silence as he made his way deeper into the room and towards the windows. The heavy drapes had blocked out the sun for years and were now faded and covered in dust. Gaston reached up and pulled heavily on the drapes causing them to fall to the ground. He stared at the exposed windows, remembering how the room would light up and become bright with the morning sun.

The moon was high in the sky and beamed through the windows with its sulky light. Gaston turned. He could see the bookcases full of books, covered with dust and cobwebs. A small table lay on its side on the floor, with a book flat open next to it. His eyes followed a beam of blue light that stretched from the night outside to the floor. He stared at where it ended.

The dark red stain.

Gaston dropped to his knees and ran his fingers along the mark. It had gone stiff over the years and smelt rancid.

_RUN!_

He put his head in his hands and sobbed, his shoulders lifting and falling as he felt himself break. A subtle thin, bony hand rest on his shoulder.

Gaston shook his head. “I should have done something” he muttered.

Arthur tutted at him.

“You were just a boy. What were you going to do? You did what she told you to do. Your mother would have been proud.” Arthur kept his hand firmly on Gaston’s shoulder. He felt despair and helplessness as the memories of that day flashed before him, his mind no longer able to shut them out.

He could feel the warm sun beaming through the windows. The boy was with his mother on the floor as she read to him. He could smell the musky scent of the books and the sweet wild flowers that sat in a vase close by. Gaston tried to remember what she looked like, what she felt like but all he could see was her eyes. He strained to hear her voice but there was too much screaming.

“Where is she?!” he heard the man shouting. His mother no longer seemed happy. She was scared. The boy looked up panicked as Madge ran into the room.

 “Madame! He’s found you! He’s here!” she panted hysterically, grabbing at her apron. The boy looked for his mother. Finding himself in her arms.

“She thinks she’s better than me!” he heard the man scream. “Stubborn whore!”

“Stay under the table, my boy” she said as she pushed him under the small table and behind the delicate table cloth. She ran her hand softly over his face and brushed his dark hair from his eyes. His mother stood up when the large man forced the door open. The room filled with the foul smell of whiskey and sweat.

“How dare you run from me!” he screamed at her. The boy put his hands over his ears desperate to stop the screaming. He looked desperately for his mother but was only able to see their feet from under the table cloth. He heard a smack and saw his mother hit the ground hard. He could see the fear her eyes as the man began choking the life from them. Blood trickled over her brow and she stared frantically at her son hiding under the table. She stretched her arm out to him, her fingers grasping at the air. He stared back into her eyes as she struggled for her life.

“Run” she gasped at him.

“ _RUN!_ ”

Gaston ran as fast as his legs would let him, the fear consuming him as he knocked over the table and fled from of the cottage, deep into the woods. He left her. He left her with him. His mother’s beautiful eyes. Her desperate eyes. He did not stop running until it grew dark and exhaustion consumed him. His father’s hunting party found him early the next morning huddled under a tree, shivering from the cold.

His father was not sentenced for his crime. The government was as corrupt then as they were now, and the wealthy always found ways around the law. When the drink finally killed his father, Gaston wanted to burn the cottage and all the ghosts that resided within it to the ground. Nonetheless, he could not bring himself to do it. But the eyes, they haunted him. The drink helped keep them away but, they always found their way back to him.

“Why didn’t she just do as she was told!” he demanded. “If she just stopped reading all the time she would still be here!” Gaston angrily wiped his face with his fist, as though he were still that child.

“Now, you don’t believe that at all” Arthur started. “Your father was jealous of her intelligence and her education. He was a weak man controlled by the drink and took his selfishness out on her. Your mother had a determined spirit. Far too strong for him.”

Gaston looked at his hands, and then at the blood stained floor.

“I’m as bad as him” he admitted.

“No, you’re not” Arthur responded. “There is a lot of your mother in you. More than you realise. You do not have to be your father. You’ve always had a choice.”

Gaston hated the truth sometimes. It exposed him raw and made him accountable.

“I can’t even remember what she looked like any more. I just remember her reading the books” Gaston muttered. And her eyes. He always saw her eyes.

“The drink doesn’t let you chose what is remembered and what gets forgotten. You will find no answers at the bottom of an empty glass” Arthur guided him.

Arthur placed something into Gaston’s hand and started to hobble out of the room.

“I think it’s time we got Madge in here to finally clean this floor” Arthur finished as he disappeared into the hallway.

Gaston looked at the empty doorway and sat in the isolated darkness of the room. He looked down at his hands to see what Arthur had given him. Gaston ran his fingers over the ruined gold lettering of Belle’s burnt book, still warm from the destructive fire.

He knew what he had to do.


	23. Dishevelled

   Ginger’s hooves pranced lightly as they left the soft path and made their way onto the hard ground of the village roads. Belle pulled her up, and wiped the tears that blurred her eyes. She looked into the village streets. It was quiet and empty. The market stalls had been packed away for the night and the villagers retired in their beds. The street lights were not lit, causing the streets to be usually dark. The gloomy moon streamed broken light into the streets. Belle hesitated at the edge of the village border. She ran her hand along Ginger’s red mane as she tried to gather her thoughts.

She had run again. Belle looked over her shoulder and stared back in the direction of the cottage. Perhaps she should go back? She turned Ginger around and looked up at the direction in which she had come. For a moment, she sat still, not moving. Watching. No, waiting. Would he come after her again? Belle clicked her tongue at Ginger and began to head back to the cottage.

Belle pulled Ginger up again. Did she want to go back? Would he open himself to her, or would he remain closed off and distant? Could she spend the rest of her life with a man that hid from his fears, and ran from secrets?

Belle turned Ginger back to the direction of the village and urged her on. Ginger’s shod hooves clipped on the cobblestone road as they entered the village grounds, echoing in the deserted streets. The empty streets made her nervous, reminding her of that cold night at the Council Town Hall. She flicked Ginger on into a canter, eager to pass through the village as quickly as possible.

As Belle made her way through the village streets, something caught her attention on the road ahead. There was light. And people. There was a crowd out the front of the tavern. Belle could hear yelling, and drunken singing. There were soldiers with lagers of beer in their hands, waving their muskets around as they gulped down their drinks, chanting vulgar songs. Belle could hear the music of a folk band playing amongst the noise, the sound of smashing glass and arguments drowning out the charm of it.

As Belle approached, a fight between two men spilled out of the front doors of the tavern and onto the street, followed by a cheering crowd. A gunshot went off, causing Ginger to rear in fright, Belle desperately grabbing onto her mane as her mare pushed against her haunches.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Belle heard a voice call out. Ginger found her feet again and paced bristly on her hooves. A man reached over and ran his hand down Ginger’s long neck and grabbed at the reins.

“Now, where are you off to in such a hurry, my dear?” Lieutenant Jacques asked up at Belle as he steadied Ginger, pulling the reins hard against the cold metallic bit in her mouth. Belle tried to move the reins from him but, he kept his grasp tight.

“I’m going home to see my father” she responded. Belle looked down at the lieutenant. His uniform was stained and dirty, pulled from his pants. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, his dark hair dishevelled and grimy. He licked his lips and grinned at her with his sharp teeth.

“Your father is inside,” he offered back, tilting his head towards the tavern. “Come down from that horse and join us.”

Belle looked past him to the crowded tavern. There were soldiers everywhere, climbing on the bar, standing on top of tables. Their weapons were in one hand and a beer in the other. Belle narrowed her eyebrows.

“My father would never come to this place,” she retorted back at him, flicking Ginger with her heels. The lieutenant pulled against the reins and looked at her with his dark eyes. Belle could see the mist of his breath in the cold air as it left his sharp mouth.

The lieutenant suddenly grabbed at her and pulled her from the saddle. Ginger squealed as Belle grabbed desperately at her red mane, almost pulling her horse down with her.  Belle screamed out as the lieutenant grabbed her around the waist and dragged her towards the tavern.

“Let her go!” she heard someone call out. Jacques turned to LeFou running towards them.

“I said, let her go!” he yelled again. Jacques laughed at him, kicking at him with his boot. A group of drunken soldiers grabbed LeFou back, laughing as he pushed against them. Jacques smirked at his efforts.

“Perhaps, I will get to finally see if she was worth it,” he sneered. Belle struggled against him as he dragged her into the crowded tavern. She looked around desperately. She could see one of the blonde triplets being harassed by a group of soldiers, separated from the protection of her sisters. A redheaded woman carrying a tray of drinks being grabbed at by a drunk soldier, causing her to drop her tray. The whole place was in uproar. No one was going to rescue her this time.

She was going to have to save herself.


	24. The Blonde Girl

   Gaston rode his black horse hard along the soft path and into the village streets. His horse’s shod hooves slipped as they entered the cobblestone roads and threw sparks as they went. She would have gone to her father’s cottage, he thought. He would go there and beg her for forgiveness. Tell her everything. Bare himself to her, every secret, and every fear. He would lay everything out to her, bring down his walls and leave himself raw and exposed. Whatever it took.

The streets were dark and empty as he turned his horse down an alleyway that took him past the tavern. The sound of smashing glass caught his attention. He looked to the noise to see a chestnut horse being restrained, fighting against the grips and ropes of a couple of soldiers, snorting with frustration against the cold air. _Ginger_. He pulled up his black mount and looked towards the tavern entrance.

“Gaston!” he heard a familiar voice. He looked over to LeFou, his face bleeding and swollen as he stumbled towards him.

“What’s happening?” Gaston demanded. LeFou wiped the blood from his crooked nose.

“He took her,” LeFou started, gasping against his injuries. “That officer. He grabbed Belle and took her inside.” Gaston looked back at the tavern. It was chaos, and teaming with drunken soldiers.

“Take my horse and wait around the back for me,” he instructed as he dismounted and headed inside the tavern. Gaston pushed his way through the crowd and into the tavern, desperately looking for Belle.

He could hardly recognise the place. Soldiers were standing on the tables, their arms around each other as they chanted vulgar marching songs. The fine wooden bar that was built by his great-grandfather from trees in the bordering forest was in pieces, looted by the soldiers keen for a momentum to take home with them. Brawling men wrestled on the floor, and thrown glass lagers smashed against the paintings that hung on the walls.

He turned to see one of the blonde triplets crying out for help as she was being harassed by a group of soldiers. He stormed over to them as they pushed her between them.

Gaston pulled one of the men back and punched him hard in the face. The solider hit the floor hard, as another one swang at him clumsily. Gaston dodged the swing and countered with a forceful hit, sending the soldier backwards and over a table, blood and teeth spraying into the air. The remaining men disappeared into the mass of people, not willing to join their comrades unconscious on the dirty floor. Gaston steadied the girl as she laughed at the sight of the soldiers cowering away.

“Find your sisters and get away from here,” he told her.

“He took her to the back room. I saw them,” she yelled back at him over the noise of the crowd. Gaston could see the back room from where he was standing and made a direct line for it. He pushed his way through the crowd of people, desperate to get there. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Belle. He had to make it right.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*--*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The blonde girl ran from the tavern and into the dark, empty streets. The night was cold but all she wore was a torn dress and fighting pride. She went to each building, banging on the wooden doors, waking the village people from their warm beds.

“Alert the men!”

“Raise the red flag!”

“Tonight we fight!” she yelled out to villagers as they stirred from their sleep, peering from their windows and through the gaps of their doors.

“Viva le revolution!” she called out into the night, her voice filled with valour and defiance.

“Viva le revolution!”


	25. Promises

  The lieutenant circled Belle, running his fingers over his chin with satisfaction. He stood closely behind her and moved her hair from her neck, breathing her in as he went. Belle could hear the clanging sound of him removing his pistol holster and placed it on the table behind him. She shuddered at the sensation of his prickly beard against her as he moved along her neck, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath. Her heart was thumping against her chest, fighting inside her. Jacques turned her to face him and forced a kiss onto her. She pulled back repulsed, pushing against him. He smirked at her response and pulled her to him, kissing her roughly, grabbing at her with his hands. Jacques pushed her against the table, grabbing at her throat with one hand while lifting her skirt with his other.

“Stop it!” Belle demanded at him. He forced her onto the table while she fought back at him. Belle pushed against him with all the strength she had, causing him to stumble backwards. Belle quickly moved to her feet as Jacques laughed at her.

“My dear, you have a lot of spirit” he smirked at her, wiping the spit from the corners of his mouth.

“But you are going to need to find a lot more than that.”

Belle watched as Jacques approach her. She waited until he came closer before she moved her position, placing her weight on her leg. He underestimated her, thought she was weak, and she was going to use that to her advantage.

As he came closer, she swung at him with a closed fist, stepping into him, throwing her weight behind the swing. Jacques’ nose burst with blood at the impact, causing him to stumble backwards in shock.

“You… You broke my nose!” Jacques screamed at her, the blood from his nose dripping over his mouth. He looked up at her, his eyes wild with anger. He spat at the blood that spilled over his lips and covered his teeth. Belle felt her fist ache from the hit but moved away from him, steadying herself, ready to fight again. If the lieutenant thought he had picked an easy target, she would make sure he realised he was mistaken.

The door suddenly flew open, sending blaring brightness into the room. Belle gasped with relief at the sight of Gaston standing in the doorway. He moved quickly to her, grabbing the sides of her face with his hands. He looked desperately into her eyes, as she struggled for air.

“I will tell you everything,” he pleaded with her. “I promise, I will tell you everything.”

Gaston ran his thumb over her lip as the sudden movement behind him caught her eye. Her eyes were wide, as the words struggled too long in her mouth.

“Look out!” she shrieked. Gaston suddenly threw back his head and cried out.

Belle watched horrified as he dropped to his knees, grabbing at her as he fell. Belle looked up to see Jacques pull Gaston’s hunting knife from his back.

“No!” Belle cried out.

Blood dripped from the knife, clouding the sharpness of it. Jacques smoothed back his hair and inspected the knife with delight, before wiping it on his sleeve, almost as a token of his assault.

“Now, this night just gets better and better” he snorted with enjoyment. He moved behind Gaston and grabbed a handful of his black hair, pulling his head back.

“Perhaps,” he muttered to Gaston as he moved the knife near his exposed throat, the blood from his nose dripping off his chin.

“Perhaps I should mount your head on the wall. Make you _my_ trophy.”

Belle held her hands to her mouth to restrain the scream that built up inside her as Jacques moved the knife closer to Gaston’s throat, flicking it against his raw skin. Gaston reached up against Jacques’ grip but struggled, finding his strength being drained by his wound. Jacques pushed against him, gritting his teeth with determination, spit and blood flying from his mouth.

The flickering candle light caught Belle’s eye and she turned to see Jacques pistol holster laying on the desk. She reached for it, seeing the pistol half-cocked, still in its holster. Belle desperately pulled the pistol out, and pointed it at Jacques, pulling the hammer back to full-cock.

Jacques looked up at her, his dark eyes shocked at the sight of his own weapon facing at him.

“Only an idiot leaves it loaded” she said to him.

BANG!

Smoke and hot sparks exploded from the pistol. The sound was overwhelming and almost deafening as Belle watched Jacques stumble backwards from the impact. He moved his hand to his chest, almost confused by the dark red blood that spilled out of him and stained his white uniform. Jacques inspected the blood on his hand, rubbing it between his fingertips. He looked back at Belle with his stony eyes and the sight of her pointing his pistol at him. Belle watched as Jacques fell limp to the ground, his eyes rolling into his head as his body slumped on the floor. Belle looked at the pistol still in her grip, suddenly repulsed by its power. She threw it to the floor and ran over to Gaston.

“We have to go” Gaston urged, still hunched over on the floor. “Someone could have heard that.”

Belle helped Gaston to his feet as he moaned in pain. He slumped against her, his feet struggling to find their strength. They stepped over Jacques’ lifeless body and escaped out the door. Belle desperately tried to hold Gaston up as he stumbled with each step.

“Please” she pleaded with him. “We’ll get you to a doctor and they can fix you. Okay?” Gaston groaned, his face pale and his blue eyes losing their focus.

“What happened?” Belle heard a small voice.

She looked up to see Hector, still clutching his leather satchel tightly across his chest. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and looked at them with confusion. Belle could feel the blood from Gaston’s wound drip over her grip, trickling through her fingers, as they pushed past Hector and down the corridor.

Hector watched as Belle and Gaston stumbled towards the back door of the tavern. He grasped his satchel even tighter as he looked back at the room they had exited from. He walked slowly towards the door, pushing it open with a nervous hand. The sight of Jacques’ body, lying face down on the floor stained with his blood caused him to gasp. He turned and ran from the room, dropping his satchel onto the floor as he fled.


	26. Red Flags

   The coldness hit Belle in the face hard. Her skin prickled and her throat burned as she rapidly inhaled the icy air. She struggled to hold Gaston’s weight against her as they stumbled out of the tavern back door. Belle saw LeFou standing ready with Gaston’s black horse.

“LeFou!” She called out. “We need a doctor! Help us!”

“What happened?” he asked as he ran to Gaston’s side to help with the burden.

 “He was stabbed. We need to get him to a doctor” Belle gasped. LeFou shook his head in frustration.

“The villagers are rebelling tonight. Everything will be locked down. There are no doctors tonight.” He stuttered back. Gaston moaned with the pain as Belle thought desperately.

“If I can get him back to the cottage, Madge might be able to help him,” Belle responded.

In the distance she could hear it. The rhythmic sound of tapping echoed through the streets. Belle stopped and looked over her shoulder at the direction of the noise.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What is it?” She asked, as she looked down the long alleyway. LeFou left Gaston’s side and grabbed the reins of the horse.

“It’s the villagers,” LeFou answered as he steadied the horse.

Gaston forced himself up into his saddle, and held his arm out to Belle. Belle accepted his grip and flung herself up onto his horse behind him.

“That man saw us” Gaston whimpered. “We can’t go back to the cottage. We are going to have to try to make it to the border.” Belle shook her head.

“No,” she countered. “No, you won’t make it. We have to try.”

The door of the tavern flew open and Belle saw Hector standing there, pointing at them. There was an officer standing with him, looking in the direction of Hector’s outstretched arm.

“Them!” Hector called out, pointing his finger at Belle and Gaston.

“They did it!”

Gaston sunk his heels into his black mount and pulled heavily on the reins. His horse squealed and charged forward, the metal of his shoes echoing on the ground.

“Come back here!” The officer yelled out to them as they rode from the back of the tavern and down the dark alleyway.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound was pulsing to her pounding heart, and it was getting closer as they rode down the alley. There was other noises as well. No longer could Belle hear the folk music from the tavern or the vulgar singing of the soldiers but, the chanting of men and women, and the stamping of feet.

They rode to the front of the tavern finding the road blocked by a mob forming at the entrance. A rioting mob of angry villagers, waving red flags, chanting the song of the revolution. They carried their farming tools as weapons, their worn clothes barley covering their starving bodies, and the tapping of a drum, guiding their hatred to purpose.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

At the front of the mob was the pretty blonde girl. She waved a red flag as she stood high on a table. She sang loudly, chanting the song of the revolution.

A soldier inside the tavern looked up from his drink and glared at the crowd in front of the tavern. A sour smirk curled up his face. He clumsily slammed the lager on the table and pushed his chair out, almost toppling over as he did. The other soldiers watched with taunted breath as he stumbled towards the mob, his drunken feet struggling to hold his weight. The crowd became silent as the soldier approached them, waiting. The blonde girl stopped waving her red flag, and watched as the soldier staggered towards her.

He suddenly pulled his pistol from his holster and pointed it at the crowd. The explosion broke the silence as smoke billowed out of his weapon. He smiled and nodded his head with satisfaction as he watched the red flag fall to the ground. It laid on the hard stone path alongside the girl, her eyes remained open but empty. Her blood trickled onto the street, drowning the flag beside her.

Belle gasped at the sight of the girl laying on the ground, and held onto Gaston tighter. The mob erupted. Years of repression fuelled them, filling them with rage. They wore the fight in their eyes. The crowd charged forward, their torches lit and their weapons sharp, pushing their way into crowded tavern.

Belle watched with horror at the hysteria of the mob, the brutality, as drunken soldiers were cut down by the horde. Belle turned in the saddle to see the officer that had spotted them now mounted on his own horse and a team of soldiers with him.

“They are coming!” She urged to Gaston as he pushed his horse on through the crowd, fighting against the flow of madness.

“We cannot go back to the cottage,” Gaston stammered to Belle. “We will just lead them straight to Madge and Arthur. We have to try to make it across the border.”

Belle nodded with agreeance as she felt Gaston weakly move his black horse on, sending them flying through the village streets and into the darkness of the night.

They were going to have to try to make it through the forest at night.


	27. The Black Horse

   The black horse snorted with frustration at the burden on his back. He was built for a heavy rider but there was two of them and his master was losing his balance. But, the black horse kept going. He knew the way into the forest. He had travelled this path many times before, his powerful hindquarters pushing down on the worn mossy ground, sending pieces of the earth up at his riders. He followed the familiar path through the woods and into the clearing, roaring with determination as the flat grass allowed him to open his legs, his mouth spitting at the white foam forming in the corners of the metal bit.

They were being chased. The black horse could hear the thundering hooves of horses behind him. They were well-bred, built for war and battle, but they were not made for the forest. They shied at the sounds of hidden creatures, and the trees played tricks on their senses. Not the black horse. He loved the forest and knew it well. His conformation was built for sharp turns and slippery trails. He knew to keep his head down for hidden branches and steer with his senses.

He also knew his master well, so when he felt the flicks of the stirrups weak and the tugs on the reins clumsy, he knew something was wrong. He felt his master guiding him into the forest, in the direction of the stream. The black horse needed no moonlight or light from a torch to show him the way. The sound of water gave him direction and the reassurance of his master’s voice gave him strength.

But, his master was slipping. And he was carrying another. For the love and loyalty of his master, the black horse would never stop. Until his master fell. Then he would never leave.

And his master did fall.

He heard his master let out a groan as his strength failed him, falling uneasily from his saddle, his body hitting the forest floor with a thump.

“Gaston!”

The sound of the other horses was distant. He had managed to get enough speed to disappear into the forest but the dogs were still on their trail and it would not be long until they found them.  The black horse felt the other rider dismount and snorted with relief at the sudden lack of weight on his back. The smell of blood filled his nostrils as he snorted at the cold air, as the black horse walked cautiously towards his master.

“Please,” she pleaded. “We’re almost there. You’re going to make it.”

“We’re almost there. Get up! Please, get up!” She begged. His master tried to pull himself onto his feet but his legs gave way, sending him crashing to the ground causing the black horse to jump back in fright. He whinnied with worry at his master, as he watched him pant with rapid breath, his face licked with sweat.

“You’ve done worse than this, right? Right?” She pleaded. His master managed a weak smile.

“No… I think this… is… the worse” he spluttered as the sour taste of metal filled his mouth. He lifted his hand to her face and traced his thumb along her lips.

“You have to keep going. Follow the path and cross over the stream…” he trailed off, gasping for breath.

“No!” She demanded. “I’m not leaving you!”

She began sobbing freely, her tears falling onto his face.

“Do… do you remember what I told you about the border and the stream?” He whispered weakly, his strength leaving him. She nodded, her face pressed against his hand.

He pulled a charred book from his pocket and held it up to her. She took it from him and looked into his eyes that begged for her forgiveness and understanding.

“I love you,” he muttered desperately.

“No!” She screamed out.

The black horse stared into his master’s face as his blue eyes lost their light and his body shuddered. His master exhaled deeply and his arm dropped from her face. The woman cried out in pain, as his master's incredible life left him.

And for the first time in a long time, his master no longer felt haunted, as the beautiful eyes guided him into rest.

She fell across his body and cried into his silent, still chest. The black horse whinnied out to his master, waiting for the comforting reply.

But he did not respond.

He nudged him with his dark nose, waiting for the reassuring pat. But he only smelt the fresh blood and stench of death that encased him.

“I love you,” the woman mumbled as she kissed his master’s sweet lips and brushed the hair from his face.

The black horse suddenly heard them. He threw his head up, trying to see them through the trees. The excitable yipping of the hunting dogs as they found their scent again echoed against the trees. The black horse snorted with anxiety, his hooves prancing with urgency.

The woman stood up and ran her gentle hands down his long, dark neck as she followed the horse’s gaze into the forest. She looked back at his master, laying still on the forest floor. The black horse dropped his head again, urging his master to move.

Neither of them wanted to leave. It was loyal to stay. The master had been good to his horse and, in return, the black horse was forever faithful back.

But his master did not move.

And the dogs were gaining.

The woman pressed her face into the black horse’s neck, he could feel her tears as they drowned her face. She sniffled and gasped for air.

“Is it time to stop?” She asked the horse, her shoulders slumped and her eyes burdened with pain. The horse looked back at the empty body of his master. His soul had left him and he was no more. The scent of blood was overwhelming, and the black horse knew that he would never again feel his weight in the saddle or the reassuring pat of his master. Every ounce of his training told him to stay. But there was something else. Something he had always known.

His master trusted him. Trusted him to carry him safely on every journey.

And now, it was his duty to ensure he got the woman safely through the forest. For the love of his master, he would get the woman out of the forest safely, even if it destroyed him.

The black horse snorted with determination, looking encouragingly at the sad hazel eyes that looked back at him. She nodded. She understood.

“Follow the path,” the woman finally agreed, as she placed the book into her pocket. She grabbed a handful of his black mane and dipped her toe into the stirrup. The black horse felt her light weight in the saddle and waited for her to gain her balance. She fumbled with the reins, still not willing to leave.

But his master trusted him and he would entrusted it to him to carry her to safety. For his master, he would do that.

The black horse dropped his haunches, pushing against the dewy ground. The woman gripped his black mane at his sudden movement, her legs not long enough to stay in the stirrups. But she held on tight, and that was all she needed to do. For his master, he would carry her the rest of the way.

She was much lighter in the saddle than he was used to, his hooves moving swiftly across the ground. He led the dogs away from where his master rested, and deep into the forest. The trees grabbed at them, scratching at the soft skin on his muzzle. The dogs snapped at his feet as they moved in on him. He could hear the uneven sound of the horses pursuing them, their expensive light-weight shoes being pulled off by loose twigs and debris, causing their tender hooves to ache and pace to slow.

But he had speed, power and experience. The woman lay low on his back, holding tightly to his neck as he charged forward. She stayed steady on the sharp turns between the trees and pushed him on when he hit the gushing water of the stream.

The water was icy cold, causing the hot muscles in his legs to ache but he pushed through the torrent water. The horses behind him reared, frightened by the sound of the gushing water. The oncoming winter winds made it wild and dangerous. The men whipped their horses furiously, encouraging them forward with foul words and hard kicks. One dog braved the water, only to be washed downstream by the rapid current. The men paced frustrated at the water’s edge as the black horse felt the dry embankment on the other side. He pushed forward, disappearing into the forest ahead, until he found a worn path that guided them through the trees. The moon moved from the protection of the grey clouds, providing streams of blue hazy light through the canopy above. He could feel the woman tremble nervously. The sound of the flowing stream no longer detectable, only the cricketing sound of unseen creatures echoed through the empty forest.

The black horse slowed to a steady pace on the trail. There was no sound that the horses had crossed the stream and were chasing them. They were alone on the path. The forest embraced them as the moon moved silently over the dark sky. The path seemed to go on forever, winding through the trees, an elusive labyrinth that led them into parts of the forest even the black horse did not know. Tall trees stood proud as hooting birds watched them with yellow eyes as they continued. The cold began to work its way into his aching muscles as the sharp air stung his lungs every time he panted. But, he would not give up.

“Whoa,” he heard her call out. The black horse snorted, adjusting the metallic bit in his mouth. She leaned forward and patted him on the neck. The sound of clanging metal caught his attention. The black horse mustered his strength and lifted his tired head.

The path had ended.


	28. Beyond The Path

   The path opened up to a set of tall, wrought iron gates that flapped back and forward with the wind. The creaking sound of the hinges sent shivers down Belle’s spine as she looked to where the path ended. The large elaborate gates were secured to a high brick wall, weather-beaten and worn, though sturdy. A creeping vine edged over the wall from the inside, testing its way to the rusted gates. Belle dismounted the black horse, patting him gently as she looked behind her for to see how far away the soldiers were. She knew once they crossed the stream, they would be close, it would not take long for the dogs to find their scent. She turned back and looked past the gates, straining her eyes against the moonlight.

Through the gates and beyond the path she could see the outline of a large, dark building ahead. Belle reached out to the gate with her hand and found it screech open with her touch. She looked over her shoulder and down the direction of the path they had just rode down. Belle took a deep breath and walked through the open gate. The black horse snorted with disapproval, stamping his feet at the sound of the rusty hinges. Belle clicked her tongue at the horse, encouraging him forward, guiding him gently with the leather reins.

Belle looked around the grounds. It was a courtyard, with a pebble lane that lead to the entrance of the dark structure ahead. There were gardens off to both sides, though overgrown and forgotten. The booming sound of thunder echoed through the clouds, causing Belle to jump fright. The black horse reared at the sound, pulling the reins from Belle’s grip.

“Whoa!” She cried out to him, but the horse wanted no more, founding his feet and fleeing into the gardens, his black coat swallowed by the darkness.

“Wait!” She called but, the horse was gone, leaving her alone in the night. Belle turned and shut the gate. At least he would not be able to get out, she thought.

The moon dared to show itself behind the heavy clouds, lighting the footpath ahead of her. As she got closer, she could see the building clearer.

It was a castle.

The moon shone on the ancient frontage, brightening each stone like a familiar friend. It was grand and majestic, even in the struggling light Belle could see that. Scraggily vines made their way across the frontage and tall windows decorated the front, reflecting the grey clouds like soulless eyes. There were gardens at the entrance. The sweet smell of the last season roses filled Belle’s nose as she passed them, as rows and rows of wilting deep red roses fought against the strong winds. Thunder clapped above her as the clouds began to release the first of the winter rain. Belle ran to the front doors as the rain tapped down.

She ran her fingers along the detailing on the heavy wooden doors in front of her. The rain trickled down her hair and down her back. Belle took a deep breath and bit down on her lip. The only way forward, was through the doors that stood proud in front of her.

And there was no knowing what was on the other side.


	29. Inside

   Belle pushed against the large doors, listening to the heavy hinges moan as it swung open into the darkness. The doors opened to a large foyer, dark and abandoned. Erratic lightning flashed through the windows, providing brief moments of brightness in the dark room. The booming thunder that followed shook the windows violently. Belle could not help the shiver that went down her spine. There was an elaborate double stairway that cascaded down and two rooms that veered off each side. The grey sky could not hold on any longer and release a deafening down pour of rain. Belle nervously made her way inside the castle, closing the door behind her.

No lamps were lit and there was no sign of a warm fireplace. Belle held herself as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Hello?” She called out, tilting her head as she looked for the occupants.

“Is anyone here?”

Belle’s feet gathered all her courage and she began to make her way into the foyer. The interior walls were covered in paintings that seemed to house the souls of the dead inside them, watching her as she walked past them. The room had a faint smell of dried roses and mould. The rich upholstery was covered in heavy blankets to keep the dust off, while a wooden table sat exposed, covered with carefully placed silver trinkets and a thick layer of dust. The tall windows at the front of the building had their coverings pulled back with gold threaded rope, showing the onset of winter outside.

Belle wandered along the polished wooden floors, her wet shoes leaving a trail as she went.  The adjoining room was as abandoned as the first. The furniture covered, throwing moving shadows across the floor.

“Hello?” Belle called out again. Surely, if someone lived here, they would have heard her by now. She could hear the walls whisper as the rain pounded against the castle windows.

“Please,” she cried out desperately to the emptiness. “I need help”.

Belle felt the weight of her shoulders as they shuddered with her breath. She was no longer able to fight, her strength leaving her as she fell to the floor sobbing. Belle cried uncontrollably into her hands as she laid helplessly on the carpeted rug. She cried for her father, she cried for the village but, most of all, she cried for him. When she pulled her hands from her face, she saw her trembling hands stained with his blood. She gasped when she looked at her dress, the front of it stained red, the last of his life, the only part of him that she had left, drained across her.

Belle suddenly heard a noise. Was that a creak? Where did it come from?

She looked up to see a small child peering out from behind the doorway looking at her. The child smiled at her before disappearing again.

“Wait!” Belle called as she scrambled after child. She made it to the doorway to see the child go through a door on the other side of the room, closing it behind them.

“Please, wait” she pleaded. Belle hurried over to the other door. She carefully turned the decorated handle and slowly pushed the door open.

The child was standing still, waiting for her on the other side. Belle could see the child was a young boy. His fair coloured hair was scruffy, though shortly trimmed and clean. He was well dressed, but did not appear to be high-born. He smiled briefly, showing a chipped front tooth. Perhaps, he was the son of the caretaker, Belle thought. Belle approached slowly, not wanting to scare the child away. She lowered herself to her knees, as to be at the boy’s height.

“Where is everyone?” She asked him. The boy stared back at her, his eyes questioning her.

“Please,” she added. “I need help”.

The boy shifted in his shoes and looked at the floor.

“We’re not allowed to have guests here,” the boy mumbled.

“He gets angry,” he added.

Belle reached over to the boy and ran a gentle hand down his face.

“Who gets angry?” asked Belle.

The boy looked up suddenly, turned and ran. Belle looked over her shoulder to see a short, plump man staring at her with an expression of fear on his face.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.


	30. Mindlessness

   He was well dressed in a red uniform, clearly a member of the household staff, his hair parted down the middle and his moustache curled up at the ends.

“What are you doing here?” He stammered desperately at her.

“You must leave now!”

The plump man stormed over to her and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her feet.

“Please,” pleaded Belle. “I cannot go out there.”

“How did you find this place? Is there any more of your people here?” The man demanded as he dragged her towards the foyer. Belle pulled against him, pleading for his help.

“Please, listen to me,” she begged. The man refused her pleas as he pulled her to the doors.

“Stop it!” Belle cried out as he tightened his grip on her arm.

“No. No. No,” he said, repeating it, shaking his head over and over again, ignoring her completely. Belle pulled herself free from his grip and swung at him with a closed fist. She connected with his chin, causing his lip to split open. The man stumbled backwards with shock, slowly reaching up to his now swollen, bloody lip.

“You hit me!” He cried out, fighting back tears. He cowered away from Belle as she reached apologetically out to him.

“I’m sorry,” she started. “But you would not listen.”

“So you attacked me?” The man responded incredulously.

“You cannot go around hitting people just because they do not listen to you,” he added as he reached for a delicate white handkerchief from his top pocket, and dabbed dramatically at his mouth.

“It’s just undignified!”

Belle heard laughter erupt behind her and she turned to see a tall, slim man coming towards her, smiling so brightly that he lit up the room. He was also dressed in uniform, though a much lighter shade. He was well groomed, his auburn hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail, and had an air of confidence to his stride.

“My dear,” he started, offering out his hand in greeting, his voice thick with an inner-city accent, suggesting his spent a significant amount of time living in the capital.

“Welcome to our humble abode. We welcome you with open arms,” he kissed Belle’s hand in greeting and clasped it gently with his own.

“Now tell me, what was it like to hit that round pompous potato in the face? I have always wanted to know,” he added, his smile cheerfully spreading across his face. 

“She attacked me!” The plump man cried out.

“Splendid!” The taller man responded as he clasped his hands together, finally releasing Belle’s hand.

“I suppose you were not being very hostable,” he added, as he waved at the empty air dramatically with his hand.

“Come this way, my dear,” the taller man guided as he placed a comforting arm around Belle.

“We will get you warm and cleaned up. Look at you! You are covered in blood! Where you attacked? Are you hurt?” The questions were fired out so rapidly that Belle was not even able to answer them. The taller man led her into a sitting room and guided her to a large armchair.

“No!” The plump man cried out. “No sitting!”

“Are you hungry, my dear? Cold?” The taller man asked her kindly, whilst completely ignoring the hysterical plump man standing next to him, who was quickly turning a sickly shade of grey. Belle managed a faint nod, not wanting to turn away the hospitality being offered to her.

“Excellent!” The taller man cheered excitably.

“Chip?” He called out to the darkness. Belle saw the little boy approach cautiously, scuffing his shoes as he went.

“Ah! There you are. Ask your mother to organise some warm tea and supper for… for… I am sorry, my dear, I do not know your name” he tilted his head towards Belle.

“Belle. My name is Belle,” she responded quietly.

The taller man smiled and turned back to the boy.

“For Belle,” he added sweetly. The boy ran off eagerly into the darkness while the tall man lit the fireplace.

“Now, all this hurrying about and no time for introductions! My name is Lumière, I am the maître d', and this overgrown pocket watch,” he pointed over his shoulder to the plump man who was now delicately nursing the cut on his lip with his handkerchief, “is Cobblepot. We are not sure what he does. He does not seem to be of much importance,” the taller man dismissed.

The plump man scrunched up his round face, his cheeks red at the insult.

“It’s Cogsworth!” he spat. “My name is Cogsworth, and I am the Master of Staff!” Lumière snorted with laughter at the response.

“He’s a glorified butler,” Lumière sniggered under his breath to Belle, thought just loud enough for Cogsworth to hear him.

Before the plump man could retaliate, they were interrupted by an older woman carrying a tray of tea and a silver cloche covering a plate of food. Her grey hair stuck out from her bonnet, while her apron was clean and freshly pressed. She smiled at Belle as she poured her a cup of tea into a delicate china cup. Belle accepted the cup of tea with her blood stained hands, trembling so violently that she almost dropped the cup.

“No! No tea!” Cogsworth demanded as he struggled for breath. “She has to leave. The Master will be furious!”

“Nonsense!” Dismissed Lumière.

“He would be happy for her to stay. I will ask him myself.” Belle watched as Lumière turned and disappeared from the room while Cogsworth fell to his knees, struggling to gulp down air. The older woman tutted at him, rolling her eyes at the dramatics. She took the cup from Belle and held her trembling hands still.

“Poor dear,” the woman sighed. “What happened?”

Belle could feel the tears as they welled in her eyes.

Everything.

Everything happened. Everything was wonderful, then it all changed. What she would give right now to be back at the cottage in his arms in front of the fireplace.  Belle’s lip trembled at the realisation that it could only be a memory.

“I… I…,” Belle stuttered as her mouth struggled with the words. She panted for air as her voice choked in her throat, pulling the life from her. She could feel the inside of her break into pieces, shattering through her like a frail piece of china. She bit down on her lip to steady the trembling as her sad, hazel eyes could no longer hide the fight.

“He died,” she finally let the words leave her mouth. And the words hurt.

“Who, dear?” asked the sweet old woman as she patted Belle on the hand.

“My husband,” Belle whispered back.

The woman looked at her with empathy and compassion, gathering Belle’s hands into her. They looked up to see Lumière returned already.

“I spoke with the Master, and he said it is fine for her to stay for the winter,” Lumière proclaimed.

“She can have the quarters in the South Wing but, she must never enter the West Wing,” he added.

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes at Lumière, not convinced with what he was hearing.

“Is that _really_ what the Master said?” He questioned. Lumière shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

“Of course,” he replied. “You can ask him yourself but, I might mention he is still a little upset with you after the dessert incident.”

Cogsworth shuddered and nodded meekly at the reminder.

“Alright, then. She stays in the South Wing.” Cogsworth agreed grumpily. He turned to the elderly woman next to him.

“Mrs Potts, could you take her and get her settled. Keep it down, though. We do not want to disturb the Master any more.” Cogsworth directed.

Mrs Potts smiled and guided Belle from the room towards the foyer.

Belle followed mindlessly.

She did not remember getting out of the chair or walking up the staircase to the South Wing. Her mind left her as she bathed, the perfumed water turning red as she washed his blood from her, the steam lifting up and choking her throat. Her body moved without guidance as she dried and dressed, suddenly finding herself in bed without knowing how she got there.

Belle laid still in the dark room, looking up at the rain pelting against the window and the night sky beyond it. The soft pillow that she laid her head on became damp from her hair as it tried to guide her into sleep.

She saw her dress draped over a chair. Sudden flashes from the lightning outside brightened the dark blood staining the front of it. Belle pushed the warm blankets from her and made her way to her dress. She lifted her dress from the chair and ran her hand along the hardened blood. She felt something in the front pocket and pulled her charred book from it, suddenly remembering it was there. Belle ran her fingers along the ruined gold lettering and inhaled suddenly at the importance of it.

It was the only part of him that she had left.

Belle embraced the book, holding it tightly against her heavy chest and collapsed to the ground. She curled up on the hard floor and wept in the darkness. She could smell him on her dress and her heart ached inside of her. Hopelessness embraced her, filling the painful emptiness inside her with grief.

As exhaustion overwhelmed her and sleep finally consumed her, she slept where she lay on the floor, clutching her dress and her book, as the rain outside washed away the last traces of autumn. The windows held strong against the wind, and the distant snow topped mountains of Switzerland where no longer visible through the heavy rain.

This was her home now for now. Winter had begun and only a fool would attempt to travel during this time. When the morning finally finds its way back and rises with the dawn, she would have to start again.

For him, she would.

At least, she would try. For her adventure was only just beginning, and she was ready to truly live.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new life.


	31. Shadows

   The shadows kept him hidden from her. She did not see him but, he watched her as she wandered through his castle. He followed her quietly, moving through the shadows as she called out to the darkness. She almost did not seem real. He wanted to go to her but, as always, he kept himself hidden from the world.

He could hear his staff talking through the walls. Though they talked quietly, the empty house sent every whisper echoing throughout the hallways and into open ears.

“What did the Master really say?” came the familiar voice of an older woman.

“I did not ask,” was the reply.

“Why?” she hissed, sounding taken back.

“You know why,” the plucky male replied. “He was very clear about outsiders entering the grounds after that night”.

There was a brief pause before the woman broke the strained silence.

“We cannot keep her hidden forever,” the woman sighed.

“She will stay in the South Wing. The Master never leaves the West Wing.  Besides, we cannot send her out. Winter has started and she has nowhere to go. She will die, and that will be on us,” he replied.

“Besides,” he added. “I think we have learned a valuable lesson about turning away people in need. Yes?”

The Master shuddered at the last comment. He pulled the blanket that covered his face from the moonlight even tighter. He would bear the scars of that valuable lesson for the rest of his life.

He would one day approach her. This was his castle and she was boarding within it without his permission. Would she be horrified when she saw him? Most likely. Everyone else was. After that day, he sent all his members of staff away, never wanting to be subjected to those horror filled stares. A few faithful servants remained, though he never understood why. He was never known for his generous, kind tempered manner. Perhaps, they had nowhere to go either.

The Master retired to the West Wing, moving quietly through the shadows. His quarters were a mess. Furniture thrown across the floor in temper. The paintings that hung on the walls were torn, barely secured on their position hanging on the wall. The only thing that remained untouched was a vase filled with freshly picked red roses, seated in front of the windows that opened to the balcony.

The roses were his reminder.

Perhaps, she would become his rose. A beauty that blossomed with love, providing sweetness and joy in the darkest times.

Anger filled him, and he swung his hand across the table, sending the vase of roses shattering to the floor. How could be so foolish? His behaviour saw him banished from the royal establishment by his own family, and his actions here saw him punished through village justice. Now, he bore the scars of his actions, a mere shadow of his former self. A man once proud now hid in shadows, and concealed himself in darkness.

How could someone so beautiful learn to love a beast?

 

 

 

**The End.**


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